Curious Hearts
by aboringday
Summary: When Tracey thought of Valentine's Day, she imagined flowers, chocolate and notes sealed with a kiss from a lover. However, her Valentine's Day was the exact opposite, lonely, dull and most of all, boring. Her day is turned around for the better when she encounters a handsome stranger with a dark past, who ultimately makes all her Valentine's Day dreams come true.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! I know I'm late to the party, but I recently bought Grand Theft Auto V and fell absolutely in love with some of the characters (Franklin mostly lol, he's amazing). I decided to write a cute little Valentine's day one-shot with him and Tracey, I hope you guys enjoy it! This is in Tracey's point of view, and it takes place after the events of the game (choice C, death-wish), so just a heads up.**

* * *

 **Tracey**

The strong rays of the late afternoon sun streamed through my white window shades, illuminating my room with a warm golden glow. The soft hum of birdsong danced lightly in my ears. It was a beautiful day outside, but instead of enjoying it, I was trapped inside my house in my pajama shorts with nothing to do.

I laid on my bed, staring at my phone through wet, teary eyes. Everyone was gone—Mom, Dad, and even my idiot brother, Jimmy. My house was completely empty, silent and lonely. No one would bother to return my calls or texts. It was like I didn't exist. No one cared about me. I was a terrible person, a nuisance everyone wanted to avoid.

Today wasn't supposed to be like this. Valentine's Day was supposed to be special. Where was my knight in shining armor to whisk me away from this terrible, empty place? Where was my Prince Charming, and my hugs, and yummy milk chocolates? Didn't I deserve to be loved? I'll admit, I wasn't the best person in the world, I was far from it actually, but I deserved better than this. I was stuck in a nightmare—a dark and lonely, friend-less nightmare, and the struggle to wake up to reality was impossible. My life was literally in shambles.

I closed my sore eyes, and hugged my legs to my chest, silently wishing for something, or someone, to help piece together the broken shards of my miserable, pathetic life.

 ** _KNOCK! KNOCK!_**

The sudden, harsh noise snapped me out of my stupor. Startled, I leapt out of bed. Someone was at the front door.

 ** _KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_**

I skulked out of my room into the plush, carpeted hall. Slowly, I descended the stairs. Could it be the police? Were they after my dad? My heart sped up. I knew it was only a matter of time before his deranged, psychotic ways caught up with him. Mom was going to be so pissed, he promised he'd go to therapy and stop being a lunatic. Typical Dad, he was such a liar.

I inched to the front door and stole a glance through the peek hole. There was a black guy on the other side, his warm, deep brown complexion gleamed beneath the sun's vibrant rays. He didn't look like a cop though, he wasn't wearing a uniform, and I didn't see any badge.

In fact, he had an urban swagger about him—a pair of dark joggers hung loose around his hips and hugged his toned legs. Half his face was hidden behind the brim of a black snapback, and his hands were buried within the pockets of his black designer hoodie as he waited patiently at the door. The man looked familiar, I've seen him before, but I couldn't put a finger on where exactly…

He was definitely a looker though, his shoulders were broad, and arms large. Maybe he played sports, football possibly. Regardless, he was nice on the eyes. At least, that's what it seemed like. I was looking at him through a teeny-tiny peephole, after all.

He was probably one of daddy's shady business partners. I let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, it wasn't the police. Daddy wasn't home, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with any of his stupid friends, even if they happened to be tall, dark and handsome. Hopefully if I kept quiet, he'd get the memo and hit the road.

I crept back to my room and gazed furtively through my window blinds. From my vantage point, I could see the entire front of the house, including the sunshine glancing off the freshly mowed lawn, as well as the gravelly driveway. It didn't seem like the stranger planned on leaving anytime soon, unfortunately. He was stretched out on the front door steps, with his sporty, silver motorcycle parked in the driveway, casually tapping away at his green smartphone's screen. Ugh, why wouldn't he just go away? What did he want?

A black sedan with tinted windows abruptly swerved into the driveway, and broke into a hard stop. For a second, I thought it was Dad, but my hopes were quickly shot down as a scrawny boy with a headful of messy blonde curls hopped out of the vehicle. Wielding a camera in hand, he jogged toward the entrance of the house, his flip-flops slapped against the pavement with every step.

The blonde boy's lips curled in disgust at the sight of the man sitting on the steps. "Hey you, butler," he called out as he scrambled toward the house.

"What?" Nostrils flaring, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome sprang into a stance, and blocked the blonde-haired boy's path. The blonde looked abnormally small and bony compared to the other male, he had to be at least a foot or so shorter. "Ay, man, who the fuck are you?" the stronger man's voice was shamelessly loud, and deep. When he spoke, he demanded attention, and everything else in the world seemed to come to a sudden halt. "And who the fuck you callin' a butler, dog?"

"Well, you certainly aren't a De Santa," the blonde boy smirked. "I mean, c'mon, look at you. You might not be wearing a butler's getup, but I can tell. I got eyes, buddy. Hey, you aren't trying to steal anything, right?"

"So just 'cause there's a black man in Rockford Hills, he's gotta be a fuckin' butler, or a thief? Is that what you think, punk ass motherfucker?" Hands balled into fists, the stronger man stalked toward the pencil-necked boy, his powerful frame hovered over him.

The boy cowered and launched his hands into the air defensively. "W-whoa, whoa, calm down bro, I'm sorry. I'm not racist, okay? I love black culture, and I'm down with the Black Lives Matter movement. I've been to a few of their rallies—"

"Man, like I give a fuck."

"Listen, I don't wanna fight, bro. Me and my pals, we're looking for Tracey De Santa. You know, the dumb, smoking hot blonde from Fame or Shame? Please, I just want an autograph. It'd be the perfect finishing touch for the shrine I'm making of her. You should see it man, it's amazing."

My stomach churned. He was the third obsessed stalker I've encountered this week. Muscles quivering, I pulled up the window, leaned out of it and shouted at the creep below. "Who are you calling dumb, freak?"

His eyes widened at the sight of me. "Tracey! I love you! Can I have your autograph?"

"No, you're never, ever going to get my autograph. So, you can just go home and jack off in front of your stupid shrine of me, because that's all you're ever going to get, sicko."

"Don't be such a selfish bitch," he snapped.

I gasped, my hand flew to my chest. How dare he? I was a second away from telling the creepy little turd to go screw himself, but the strong man quickly came to my defense, shoving the boy a few steps back.

"Watch yo' fuckin' mouth," the strong man threatened.

"Or what?" the blonde boy taunted. "You going to hit me, huh? Touch me, I dare you! I'll sue you into next week."

"Seriously?" I shouted out the window. "You are such a pussy! Do you have any idea who my dad is? Huh? Do you?" I pointed at the strong man. "Hey, you! Can you kick that creep's ass for me? He called me a bitch! He totally deserves it."

"Shit, my pleasure, girl," the strong man smirked, and cracked his knuckles.

Face turning ashen with fear, the blonde boy cringed, and slowly shrunk away toward his car. "W-wait, let's talk about this—"

 ** _Bam!_** The strong man punched the boy without a shred of restraint or remorse, the strike swept him off his feet and onto the pavement.

"Argh!" The blonde boy wailed, clenching his bruised face. "My nose! My fucking nose—god, why do you hit so hard?"

"Grow some balls, homie," the strong man grinned. "I wasn't even tryin'."

"Hit him again!" I demanded. "Don't stop now! I'm enjoying this."

The strong man glanced up at me. "I think he got the message, girl."

"Are you sure? Maybe you can stomp on him a couple of times? Or maybe run him over with your motorcycle, just to make it stick?"

The strong man merely chuckled, and then turned his attention back to the boy lying on the ground. "Go on, man, get yo' stupid ass outta here before I change my mind, dog."

"Fuck you, cocksucker," the veins in his face becoming engorged, the blonde boy reached underneath his polo shirt, and in an instant, a handgun leaped into view, pointed straight at the strong man.

I squealed, my joints locked in place, my entire body frozen. Time seemed to come to a slow. The blonde boy whistled, and the passenger doors of his black sedan suddenly opened. Three men exited the car—each of them just as scrawny as the blonde boy, one carrying a rope. They rushed to his side. The strong man stood completely still, feet rooted to the ground, he stared into the barrel of the gun, unfazed.

"Not so tough now, are you?" the blonde boy grinned, and his peanut gallery followed suit, laughing menacingly as well. "I'm gonna get that autograph whether you like it or not."

"Damn, y'all clowns really serious 'bout this shit, huh?" The strong man shook his head. "A'ight then, the fuck you waitin' for, dog? Pull the trigger, bitch."

"Get out of our way, and we won't have to. And don't even think about calling the police, we'll be long gone before they get here."

The strong man cautiously stepped aside.

"Bullshit, I'm gonna call the police," I cried. "You psychos!"

"The hell you are!" The blonde boy and his pencil-neck posse of morons charged toward the house.

I pulled away from the window, and hopped onto my bed, clawing through my sheets in search of my phone, the sound of my heartbeat thrashing in my ears. I was hyperventilating and panting like a dog in heat by the time I friggin' found it.

 ** _Bang! Bang!_** The stutter of gunfire filled the house. There was a shootout going on right outside my room!

I sprang up and twisted the lock to my door, hoping that'd be enough to hold the psychopaths off. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I shifted my focus to getting in touch with the police, but my sweaty fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, frantically tapping my phone's screen awake, and dialing 911. I pressed my phone to my ear, eagerly waiting for an operator to answer. However, my call was answered by a stupid automated message instead.

"You've reached the Los Santos 911 center. We are currently experiencing a high volume of calls. Please hold, and stay on the line for the next available operator—"

"Are you kidding me?" I whimpered, pressing a hand to my sweaty forehead. This can't be happening. I felt so lightheaded. It was getting so hot in here; my skin was practically burning. I thought I was going to faint…

 ** _Snap!_** My door broke off its hinges and plummeted to the floor. I cringed, dropping my phone.

Three men appeared—the blonde boy who happened to still be armed with a gun, the strong man who was currently in the process of wrestling with the blonde boy, and then there was a third guy I didn't recognize. The third guy clung to the strong man's back like a spider monkey, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and legs straddling him in a desperate attempt to pin him down. Miraculously, the strong man managed to ignore the guy riding his back and focused on wrangling the pistol from the blonde boy's grasp.

My heart was on the verge of bursting from my chest as they tumbled into my room, engaged in heated combat. They carved a path of destruction in their wake, smashing and damaging my belongings as they scuffled. I skipped onto my bed for safety, successfully evading them.

"Hey!" I shouted as they bumped into my widescreen TV. "Be careful! My dad is going to be so pissed if you guys break that!"

"Tracey, I love you!" The guy riding the strong man's back yelled. "Marry me! I need the tax break."

"Ew, only in your wet dreams, creepo."

Thankfully, the strong man successfully grappled the pistol from the blonde boy's hand, and bashed his elbow into boy's face, knocking him senseless. I had no clue why he was fighting to defend me, but I was super glad. With the blonde boy out of the way, he managed to shake off the guy riding his back quite easily, flipping him onto the floor. The strong man drew the handgun he obtained from the dangerous ordeal and aimed it at the guy lying before him. Nostrils flaring, and broad chest rising and falling with harsh, rasping breaths, his finger touched the trigger.

I dropped down from my bed and clutched the strong man's sleeve. "Don't," I muttered.

He gazed at me, the smoldering anger in his eyes gradually faded, his deep brown stare softened. "Come on," he said, grasping my hand and leading me into the hall. The stench of sulfur filled my nose the moment we departed my room, and there were bullet holes all over the walls. My parents were gonna have a stroke if they saw the house in this condition…

The floor downstairs creaked with heavy footsteps. We weren't alone. There were crazy people still lurking around the house!

"What are we going to do?" I whispered, huddling close to the strong man.

His rough, calloused hand squeezed mine lightly, and he beckoned me to follow him. Our footsteps whispered over the floor as we made our advance to the end of the hall, past Jimmy's room. He led me into the bathroom, and eased the door closed behind him, turning the lock.

He proceeded to the window and carefully opened it. Quietly, he dipped low and climbed out into the warm, afternoon air, dropping down onto the patio's wooden awnings. I gaped at him from the window, hesitant to make a move. There wasn't much distance between the us and the patio, but I wasn't a fan of heights. My stomach twisted in knots. The thought of jumping out a window made me anxious…

"Come on, girl," the strong man muttered.

"I-I can't," I mumbled. "This is crazy."

He reached out to me. "It's a'ight, you can do this. I'll catch you."

Loud footsteps approached the door. The knob began to twist erratically. "I know you're in there," a menacing voice grumbled from the other side. "You can't hide from us forever. We're gonna get ya…"

I swallowed deeply. It was either jump out a window to safety or get caught by an obsessed stalker who probably wanted to lock me in a basement and wear my skin as a jacket. The choice was simple, I had to get the heck outta here.

My knees weak and wobbling, I crawled onto the windowsill, and stared at the awnings below. "Promise you'll catch me?"

"I got you," the strong man reassured.

I sucked in a deep breath. Okay, here goes nothing…

I jumped down, and the strong dude broke my fall, capturing me in his muscular arms with little effort. Thanks to the narrow distance between the awnings and the patio, he managed to drop to the ground with me still secured in his warm embrace. He whisked me to his motorcycle, and gently set me down. The gravelly driveway was uncomfortably hot and rough against my bare feet.

I winced. I was totally not dressed appropriately for the occasion.

We mounted the bike, and he turned on the ignition. The engine came to life and whined loudly, the exhaust pipes fuming. "Hold on tight," he demanded.

I clung to him, and we shot forward, peeling out of the driveway. Wind whipped against my face as we weaved between cars, blazing a path through the strangle of rush hour traffic. His uncaring attitude toward traffic laws reminded me so much of my dad. God, I was starting to get a feeling he was crazy too. But it was no surprise really, everyone in this city had a couple of screws loose in the noggin, me included.

Once we were a safe distance from my house, he reduced the speed, and we slowly cruised along with the drone of traffic.

"Holy shit," I sighed, my sight blurred with tears. "I can't… I can't believe that just happened."

"Yeah, that shit was crazy," he replied. "You good?"

"I'm fine," I sniffed. Although I tried my hardest to hold it back, tears spilled from my eyes, flowing down my cheeks uncontrollably, like a broken dam. My chin trembled. Cheeks burning with shame, I nuzzled my face against his back, hiding my sorrow. Never had I ever been so touchy with a stranger. But the warmth of his muscular body, and the tantalizing scent of cologne rising from his skin—a fresh, woodsy aroma, combined with subtle hues of cigarette smoke…it captivated me, begged me to linger and bask in his closeness for a little while longer.

I must had been going crazy, my feelings were all over the place—devastated from my near-death experience, but also relieved, and super grateful of the stranger who intervened. If it weren't for him, who knew what those jerks would had done to me?

"T-thanks," I managed to choke out, my voice barely a whisper.

"You sure you a'ight?" he asked.

I didn't have the strength to reply. I sat there quietly, listening to the motorcycle's purring engine, and the annoying honking of car horns as we slowly drove forward.

"Yo, my name's Franklin, in case you were wonderin'," he said.

I cleared my sore throat. "S-shouldn't we call the police, or something? Those nutjobs are still at my house, who knows what they're doing. They could be looking through all my stuff and stealing my belongings—those creeps could be sniffing my panties as we speak!"

"If they are, let's be glad the desperate motherfuckers only got your panties, shit coulda gone much worse. We can't get the Five-O involved though."

"What? Why not?"

"I work for your dad, a'ight? And you probably already know, or have some idea, that the big ass house you got, and the rich ass lifestyle you live wasn't earned the legitimate way. The last thing you want is a police investigation on your property, it ain't the best way to keep skeletons buried."

"Are you saying my dad is some kind of petty criminal? I'll have you know that he's a movie producer now. He doesn't do illegal crap anymore."

"Fo' sho', I never said he was petty. When your pops makes moves, he makes 'em big."

"What do you mean? What kind of moves does he make, exactly?"

"Look, if your dad ain't tell you nothin', I ain't finna tell you either. That's between you and him."

"Ugh!" I whimpered, realizing I didn't have my phone. "This is horrible! I told my dad not go to on that stupid vacation, but he never listens to me."

"Yeah, he hit me up this mornin' talkin' 'bout it. Seemed real out of the blue."

"Yeah, it was a sudden, spur of the moment type of thing, for Valentine's Day. My mom talked him into it. They went to Hawaii, been gone since this morning."

"What 'bout Jimmy?" Franklin asked.

"He's hanging out with his gross drug dealer friend, and hasn't been returning my calls. He's such a self-entitled idiot. He treats me and my parents like doormats, like we're nothing more than his human servants."

"Jimmy ain't so bad. I mean yeah, he's an idiot, but he loves you, and your dad. He's just got a funny way of showin' it."

"Bullcrap. All he cares about is himself." I let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "I swear, my life cannot get any worse. I'm stuck out here with you, some friggin' stranger who's probably a psychotic, murdering, crack junkie like everyone else in this stupid, two-bit, crap city. With the amount of literal insanity that happens around here, I'm surprised the government hasn't quarantined the entire city and hired a firing squad to put us all out of our misery."

"Damn, you a real pleasure to be around, you know that?" Franklin teased. "You and your dad got a lot in common, both of y'all depressin' as shit. Yo' pops sees a shrink, don't he? Maybe he can recommend you—"

I gasped. "Seriously? I'm glad you saved my ass and everything, but you don't have to be such a judgmental asshole."

He chuckled. "What's good with all the name callin'? Am I psychotic, murderin', crack junkie? Or a judgmental asshole?"

"You're both, howbow dah? If you don't like it, you can cash me ousside. Now do me a favor and do an illegal U-turn right now. I wanna go home."

"As much as I wanna take yo' ungrateful ass home, I can't. Your pops would kill me if somethin' happened to you. The reason I dropped by your crib in the first place is 'cause your dad called in a favor—he wanted me to babysit."

"What?" I blinked. "Are you kidding? I'm twenty-four years old, I don't need a babysitter. I'm a fully functioning adult."

"Coulda fooled me, girl."

"And if I had to choose someone to babysit me," I continued, "it wouldn't be a criminal, like yourself, no offense. I'd rather have a sweet old grandma who can make a killer batch of homemade cookies and milk."

"Grandma woulda had a hard time fightin' off them motherfuckers who were after you. She ain't gon' be makin' too many cookies after them dudes pop a cap in her ass."

"Not funny," I frowned.

"Look," Franklin paused to sigh. "Your pops made the right call, you need somebody watchin' out for you while he's gone. He said he'd be back by tomorrow, so we gotta deal with one another until then. Once he's back, we can deal with the fucks who tried to hurt you, and you can go back to doin' whatever yo' spoiled ass be doin' on the daily basis. Sound good?"

I grimaced, his words repeated in my head—'spoiled', 'ungrateful'. Maybe I was a little spoiled, and sometimes I was ungrateful, but it wasn't on purpose. I really was happy he saved me. I guess I did have something in common with Jimmy, we both had a crappy way of showing how appreciative we were of other people.

"H-hey," I mumbled. "I was being a bitch, wasn't I? I can't help it sometimes. No, I'm not on my period or anything like that, I'm just emotional, and tired of everything going wrong in my life, so what I'm trying to say is—I'm sorry."

"Uh…" Franklin's body tensed as he fumbled for words. "Yeah, don't mention it. I know how it feels when shit keep goin' wrong, and after what you been through, I don't blame you for bein' upset. It's all good."

I smiled, relieved that he accepted my apology. I was absolute crap at apologizing and admitting my mistakes out loud. I wanted to be a better person, not the spoiled brat everyone made me out to be. Realizing that my family and I were all dysfunctional sociopaths was a vital part of the recovery process, at least that's what Dr. Friedlander said.

"Ay, you like Suburban?" Franklin asked.

"The clothing store?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess it's not bad. Why?"

"There's one nearby. Let's get you somethin' to wear."

"Thanks, but I don't have any money on me."

"Don't worry 'bout the paper, I got you."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Can't have you out here barefoot."

"Okay," I feigned a smile. "Um, thanks. I'll pay you back as soon as I get a chance."

"Really, don't worry 'bout the expenses. I got you."

After five painful minutes later of slowly inching forward through traffic, the sun had begun to dip behind the horizon, painting the city skyline in deep shades of red and pink. A large Suburban store soon appeared in the distance. Once we neared it, Franklin made a curving right off the main road and we glided into the clothing store's parking lot. He nosed into a space and cut the engine. The place was a lot more busy than usual, cars pulled in and out of the parking lot, and crowds of shoppers could be seen inside through the large, storefront windows.

A wave of heat shimmered over the busy lot, the humidity caused my hair to frizz. I swept it into a pony-tail and wiped my sticky hands on my purple pajama shorts. My stomach dropped at the thought of my bare feet touching the dirt, the city ground was layered with trash, litter and broken glass.

Franklin rose from the bike and gazed at me.

My face burned beneath his warm, studious stare. "What?"

"I know you ain't plannin' on walkin' 'round here with no shoes. Motherfuckers might think it's weird, me carryin' around a half-naked white girl," Franklin formed a sad smile. "Not only that, but you look like, well, shit."

"Huh?" I peered into his motorcycle's rear window. My face was as red as a tomato, black streaks of makeup stained my cheeks from crying earlier, my pink eyeshadow was smeared near my forehead. My hair was a disaster zone. "Oh my god," I cried. He was totally right, I looked horrible—worse than the five-dollar hookers my dad used to bring home. "I'm a celebrity, Franklin! I can't be seen like this. Do you have any idea what the tabloids are going to say?"

"Chill, stop drawin' attention to yourself," Franklin grumbled. "Stay here, and keep your head down, a'ight? I'll get you some shoes, and then you can come in the store with me and pick out somethin' nice to wear, if you want."

"Don't leave me, I can't be alone like this—"

"I'll be right back, girl."

Franklin jogged toward the store.

"I'm a size six!" I called out to him. "Oh, and I prefer sandals, open toe please, so I can show off my new pedicure!"

He waved a hand at me in dismissal, disappearing through the automatic sliding doors. I took his advice, bowing my head and hiding my face against the silver fairings of his motorcycle. If paparazzi showed up, I was screwed…

* * *

I stood in front of the narrow bathroom mirror within the Suburban store and gawked at myself. It felt like ages before Franklin returned to get me, but he eventually came, and bought me a pair of tan colored, open toe sandals, just as I requested. The straps were embellished with small, sparkly jewels. The gems probably weren't real, considering Suburban wasn't the kind of high end place I was used to shopping at, but it'd have to do. Surprisingly, I kinda liked it.

I struck a pose in the mirror, admiring my new pair of blue skinny jeans, and my white spaghetti strap top. Simple, but effective. Now all that was left to do was fix my makeup. I washed away the impurities on my face with damp water, and happily exited the lady's room. It reeked of perfume in there.

Franklin waited patiently for me outside the bathroom. He escorted me through the store's automatic doors, and into the warm, evening air. Night had fallen over Los Santos, but the city was still bustling, cars, and buses passed us by in a hurry, repeatedly honking their horns as they sped along the street. Franklin and I made a slow advance through the parking lot toward his motorcycle, side by side.

I gazed at him, curious of the dangerous, yet generous stranger. At my angle, the flat brim of his hat did little to hide his face, the street lamps illuminated his youthful brown complexion. He was attractive in rugged, masculine way, his bone structure sharply sculpted and cheeks adorned with a neatly trimmed beard. His nose was wide, and lips full, but usually pressed in a slight scowl—grumpy much?

Chin held high, he emanated an aura of self-assured arrogance, the wide-legged gait of his powerful body taking up more space than needed. There was an inherent strength in his broad shouldered posture. Strong, proud cheekbones chiseled out of a face of masculine, dark beauty—he was a man others would think twice about crossing. It was intimidating to say the least, but intriguing all the same.

My brows furrowed in thought. Was he always this grumpy? Regardless of his rigid demeanor, his deep brown skin and ruggedly handsome face glowed with a mysterious elegance beneath the stars. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but there was a glint of softness within his profound amber gaze, and I longed to explore it.

He glanced at me, probably realizing I've been staring at him this whole time. Our gazes locked, a glint of confidence shone in his intensely gorgeous gaze. His eyes seemed to change color under the influence of the bright lights, a starburst of a gold danced within his pupils. Captivated by his beautiful eyes, my pulse raced, his heavenly scent graced my nostrils. He smelled good, really good. It had to be cologne, or body wash, maybe.

He was a lot different from the guys I was accustomed to. I didn't mind, it was like a breath of fresh air, a welcome change.

I broke out in nervous giggles due to the extended eye contact, my gaze dropped to the ground. He chuckled too, his laugh was light, and adorable. How old was he? He looked young, maybe in his early twenties, but his eyes were wise. He claimed he worked with my dad, and he seemed to know a lot about my family, but I didn't know much about him. Maybe it was time to do some prying.

"That was really gentlemanly of you," I murmured. "Buying an entire outfit for me. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, well…" Franklin formed a weak smile. "It's cool. I've been workin' on buildin' up my karma lately."

"I think you've really impressed the karmic gods today." I crouched on the leathery seat on his motorcycle, and gaped at the dark, cloudy sky. "This is totally not how I expected my Valentine's Day to go."

"Yeah?" He stood beside me. "How'd you expect it to go?"

"For one, I was supposed to be hanging out with friends. We made plans to go to Vespucci Beach, just us single ladies—that is, until they all secured a date out of the blue, and bailed on me. There's an awesome festival taking place there tonight in celebration of Valentine's Day, I wanted to go there so bad. People can be so freaking unreliable, right?"

"I learned not to expect shit from anyone. That way, you never get disappointed."

"That doesn't sound like a fun lesson to learn. Do people usually disappoint you?"

"All the fuckin' time. It's just a part of life." Franklin reclaimed his seat on the motorcycle. "Ay, you still down to go to that festival?"

My brows narrowed. "Seriously? You'll take me there?"

"Fo' sho', we can kick it. I ain't got shit to do, and since we stuck together, we might as well have a good time."

"Fuck yes, let's go!" I locked my arms around his waist as he turned on the motorcycle's ignition. "We have to go on the Ferris wheel. And I need ice cream, or maybe cake— I am dying for some sweets."

"You always this damn bossy?" He flattened the gas pedal, and we surged onto the lively, city street.

It was a lengthy, and surprisingly enjoyable drive to Vespucci, considering we weren't stuck in rush hour traffic the entire time. Franklin really cranked up the speed once we maneuvered onto the freeway. Los Santos was full of shitty drivers, but thankfully, Franklin was one of the good ones—maybe the best one I've had the pleasure of riding with to date.

We zipped past and cut in front of every vehicle in our way, wind whipped through my hair, and cooled my skin, warding away the humidity. My surroundings became little more than a blur as we accelerated down the road, adrenaline pumped through my veins. Although I was having the time of my life, it was hard to ignore the little voice in my head warning me that speeding, and reckless driving could very well end up with us both dying horribly. However, I did my best not to be a worrywart, and allowed myself to relax, and enjoy the ride.

Franklin parked on the curbside across the street from the beach. The sidewalk was crowded with people making their way to and from the festival. A huge, sparkling Ferris wheel could be seen in the distance. Loud music, screaming and laughter filled my ears, and the delicious smell of fried foods seeped into my nostrils. My stomach growled. I took Franklin's hand and using my nose as a guide, I followed the yummy aroma.

We crossed the street onto a sandy boardwalk and made a right onto the bustling fairground. There were all sorts of people here, from noisy teenagers and cute couples, to seniors in wheelchairs. Sticky-faced children carried around stuffed animals, while others rode the glowing carousel placed in the center of the fairground, laughing happily as it slowly went around and around. Big canvas tents surrounded the area, hosting a wide variety of carnival games, such as ring tossing and target practice. There was even a petting zoo! Out of the many activities to take part in, my attention was drawn to the red food trailer selling fried goodies beside the ring tossing tent.

There was a lengthy line of hungry people waiting to make an order. I was too starved to be deterred from my quest for food, however. I hustled toward the trailer, my feet sinking into the warm sand with every step, and secured a spot at the end of the line. Thankfully, it wasn't a long wait. I ordered a funnel cake, which Franklin volunteered to pay for, and we took a seat on a nearby bench.

"This is great," I said with a mouthful of fried, powdery goodness. "You should seriously try this."

"Nah, I'm good," Franklin replied. "It's all yours, looks like you really enjoyin' that."

"I am, but I hate eating alone." I ripped off a piece of my cake and held it to his full lips. "Take a bite, c'mon. You know you want to."

"A'ight, a'ight." He took a bite. "Mmm, that ain't bad." He nodded in approval, savoring the taste before swallowing it down. "That shit ain't bad at all. Gimme another piece?"

"Nope, I don't think so," I teased, shifting away from him. "You didn't say please."

"So?" Franklin's face twisted into a scowl. "You want me to beg or some shit?"

"Um…" I paused to clear my throat, thrown off guard by his sudden irritable mood. "Just a little?"

"Nope, you can keep yo' greasy ass cake then."

"Oh my gosh, don't be such a grouch," I shoved the cake in front of his face. "Here, you can take the whole thing."

"Nah, I don't want it anymore."

"Frank!" I clung to his powerfully built arm. "I'm sorry. You don't have to beg, okay?"

Franklin's annoyed expression abruptly cracked, and a devilish smirk spread across his handsome face. "It's cool, I was just playin' with you, girl."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Holy crap, has anyone ever told you how scary you look when you're mad?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. You straight?" He pressed a thumb to the corner of my mouth, gently wiping away specks of powdered sugar lingering near my lips. "I ain't mean to scare you. Don't sic your pops on me, a'ight?"

Heat rose to my cheeks. I lowered my head, hoping he didn't realize I was blushing. Damn it, Tracey, pull yourself together. Stop being so awkward. "Er…you aren't scared of my dad, are you?"

"Nah, but I know how protective he is of you and Jimmy. The smallest shit sets him off."

"Fine, but no more being a grouch, or pretending to be one, anyway. I'm not having a very good day, and at this very moment in time, I'm feeling super vulnerable, and I just need a friend, okay? Now shut up, and let me clog your colon pipes with processed, sugary goodness."

Franklin chuckled, and opened his mouth. I tore off long pieces of mouthwatering funnel cake, and hand fed it to him.

"So…" I murmured, watching his sculpted jaw flex as he chewed. "Who are you, really?"

"Told you already," he said with his mouth full, "me and your pops do business together."

"How'd you guys meet?"

"I used to do repo, boostin' cars and shit, I met Michael on the job. Ended up gettin' fired, and he hooked me up with some work."

"Oh, sorry you lost your job. That must've sucked."

"Nah, it was a good thing. If that shit ain't happen, I wouldn't have sought your dad out for help. I woulda never made it out the hood."

"Wow, you used to live in the hood?" I gasped. "What was it like? Lots of drive-bys, drug deals and gang violence? Like in the movies?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," he chuckled. "Lived there for years. It doesn't happen as often as it does in the movies though. Forum Drive ain't a warzone, but livin' there wasn't easy either. Most motherfuckers 'round the block ain't have shit to live for, they'd creep on a nigga for dollar and change if they could."

"Jeez, they'd kill someone for only a dollar?"

"Well, maybe not just a dollar, I was exaggeratin', girl. But you get the point, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. How'd you survive as long as you did?"

"I joined a gang, and kept my fuckin' head down, that's how."

My eyes widened. "You joined a gang? Oh my god, why?"

"Where I'm from, gangs are a necessary evil. You rep the set, and your homies watch your back. Gangbanging is all I've ever known, I was raised into that shit. And after my moms and grandma died, all I had was my homies. Hustlin' helped pay the bills. I ain't make much, but somethin' was better than nothin'."

"What about your dad? He couldn't help you?"

"Never met him."

I frowned. "Oh…" I fed him the final piece of funnel cake.

Franklin devoured it and turned away. "Yeah, his bitch ass ran for the hills after my moms got pregnant with me."

"Frank, that's…" I fumbled for the right words. As annoying as my parents were at times, the thought of losing them forever caused a sudden pang in my chest. "That's horrible. I'm sorry."

"It's all good. Shit happens."

"No, it's not 'all good'. You don't have to act all macho, like it doesn't hurt, because I know it does." I threw my arms around his broad shoulders and held him tight.

As if he had never had a hug in his entire life, his powerful body tensed, and froze completely.

"My life sucks, but not nearly as much as yours," I said. "And when I'm feeling like crap about it, I get angry and lash out, but in reality, I just want a hug, and someone to tell me things will be okay. So here's your hug, whether you want one or not, and here's me telling you that everything will be okay."

He remained silent, seemingly immersed in deep contemplation. What was he thinking? I don't know how long I held him before the tension in his muscles began to loosen. Slow and hesitant, his arms enclosed around me. I felt so tiny in his embrace, yet safe. Everything around me had melted away, his powerful arms worked like a shield, blocking out the rest of the terrible world. In a flash, my loneliness and sadness was swept away, and had been replaced with a warm, fluttering sensation in my chest. I fell very much in love with the feeling, all of it was brand new to me. It left me breathless and yearning for more.

"Are you okay?" I asked, smoothing my hand over his strong neck, my fingers brushed over the neatly shaved sides of his head.

"I'm good," he said, his voice had grown quiet, and soft. "It's just, you're sweet. I ain't really used to the lovey-dovey shit."

"Do you like it?"

"Well shit, I don't hate it. You ain't this nice to everyone, are you?"

"No, I hate most people." I reluctantly pulled away, immediately missing his warmth.

"Yeah, me too." Franklin stood, and I followed suit. I didn't realize we were holding hands, our fingers intertwined. "How 'bout we go catch a ride on the Ferris wheel?"

I smiled. "Great idea."

We strolled along the beach, heading toward the Ferris wheel, taking our sweet time. I was enjoying Franklin's company, maybe he wasn't a crazy psychopath after all. Although, it was too early to make any real, logical judgements about his character. His dark past worried me, as well as his affiliation with my father.

He's must had done a lot of bad things, being a former gang member and all. I've heard countless news reports concerning the senseless violence that took place in his old neighborhood. Chances were, if he lived there for years, he might've been involved in some of the violence. Clearly, he knew how to handle himself, he fought off those creeps who broke into my house all on his own. There wasn't a glimpse of fear in his eyes when they pulled a gun on him either. An average person would of shit their pants. But someone who's had a brush with death countless times could probably remain calm in a dangerous situation like that.

If that was the case, it was no wonder Franklin had a chip on his shoulder. Life dealt him an unfair hand. I was intrigued by the mysterious man, but also, a little afraid. Not for myself though, I knew he wouldn't hurt me, he was aware of what my dad would do if he tried anything. I was scared for everyone else. Earlier today at my house, if I didn't intervene during his fight with the creeps in my room, would he had killed them?

All these deep, complex thoughts were beginning to hurt my brain. I willed them away as we neared the target shooting gallery tent. The cutest, little stuffed panda bear caught my eye, he dangled from the roof, all on his lonesome. He looked so sad, just blowing in the wind, patiently waiting for someone to take him home.

"Franklin!" I dragged him to the tent, bouncing from foot to foot energetically as I pointed at the adorable panda. "Look at him, isn't he cute?"

A heavily suntanned man posted beside the tent flashed us a toothless smile. "Hit three targets, and the panda is all yours," he said, tilting his straw hat to greet us. "One-dollar per round, four shots each—that means you can only miss once. Whaddaya say? Why not win your lady something nice?"

"A'ight homie, I'm down," Franklin whipped out his wallet and handed over a dollar bill. He took hold of the toy rifle lying on the counter. "Hope this shit ain't rigged, dog."

"No siree, we're honest folk 'round here. Local law enforcement double checked our games the moment we set up shop in these parts. Everything is fair-and-square, I assure you. Now if you've got experience with handling a gun, hitting those targets should be easier than a drunk hillbilly sliding off a greasy log backward."

"Okay…" Franklin mumbled awkwardly. I took a few steps back to give him some space. He aimed at the row of red, circular targets in this distance, hanging at the far end of the tent. They were small, and were slowly rotating from side to side. It didn't seem like an easy game, not by far.

"You got this!" I cheered. "Pretend it's someone you hate, like the police!"

"That ain't helpin'," he grumbled, taking the shot. One of the targets jerked back as a small pebble collided with it.

"Bullseye!" The straw-hat man pumped his fist into the air. "Yee-haw! Two more to go."

Franklin hit the last two targets in quick succession. I squealed, giddy with excitement, and ran to him. He captured my petite frame in his arms, lifted me off my feet, and spun me around in a playful hug. We broke out in giggles, and I could feel the heat of people's stares as we goofed around, but I didn't give a crap. For a fleeting moment, he was the very center of my attention, and there was peace in the world, nothing else mattered.

"Well slap a diaper on my behind and call me a baby—you've gone and done it," the straw-hat man declared. He reached up and freed the cute panda bear from captivity. "Here ya go," he handed the bear over to Franklin.

Franklin flashed a warm, pearly white smile, and presented the stuffed animal to me. "Happy Valentine's Day, girl."

"Thank you," I beamed at him. "You're the best person in the entire world!"

"Ain't never heard that one before." A shy chuckle escaped him, and a subtle rosiness grew visible on his beautiful brown skin. I couldn't believe he was blushing.

I was so happy, but not because I had a new stuffed bear to add to my collection. No, there was more to it than that. He put time and effort into winning it for me. It made the gift far more sentimental. To think, I'd still be sad and alone, wasting away in my room if it weren't for him—assuming those creeps decided not to break into my house in the first place, of course.

"So, we got our grub on, and now that you've got your little animal friend, think we're ready for the main attraction?" Franklin asked.

"Totally," I nodded.

The shades of the evening had grown deeper, and the activity in the fairground had begun to fizzle out. It was a Wednesday night, and whether it was school or work, most people had responsibilities to take care of in the morning. It was great timing, the line to board the Ferris wheel was short and sweet. Franklin purchased our tickets and we hopped into the padded seats of a shiny red cart, side by side.

The wheel rotated at a slow pace, easing us above ground and into the night air. We rose higher and higher. The majestic beauty of the city's deep blue skyline came into view, so many different shades of bright, glowing lights, and tall buildings—it was mesmerizing. The moon towered over the metropolis, it's silvery radiance illuminated the starless sky. I leaned my head on Franklin's shoulder, and quietly admired the stunning scenery.

A cold, salty breeze swept over me, sending a chill down my spine.

"Jeez," I shivered. "How'd it get so cold all of a sudden?"

"Come here," he settled a hand on my waist, and I snuggled close to him, basking in his warmth. Good thing he was wearing a hoodie, the nighttime weather was frigid this time of year. "Feel better?" he asked.

"Lots better," I smiled. "Thanks again, by the way, for turning my crap day into a good one."

"Yeah, I know you were havin' a hard time. I wanted to make you feel better, figured the festival would be a good place to start. Listen, my crib ain't far from where you live, you can lay low there 'til your pops gets back, if it's cool with you? Beats the alternatives, right?"

"Yeah, I'd like that. God, I owe you big time, Frank, for everything."

"Nah, you don't owe me shit, girl."

"I do!" I pinched his bearded cheek. "I owe you so much."

He gazed at me, and our eyes locked. Our faces were so close, his warm breath on my neck, I licked my lips, my mouth moistening. As if under a spell, I was entranced by the ruggedly handsome man, a pang of lust and desire clenched my chest. I wanted him, I needed him—

Franklin abruptly pulled back, his body shifted away from me.

I stared at him blankly, confused. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm good," he feigned a smile. "I'm just enjoyin' the view, the city's beautiful, ain't it?"

"Sure," I muttered, unconvinced.

* * *

We drove back to Vinewood Hills after the Ferris wheel ride. I couldn't stop thinking about our almost kiss the entire way there. Why did he turn away? Was I reading him wrong? I felt like there was a spark between us. Maybe I was being too pushy. He probably thought I was annoying, or desperate. Ugh, I ruined everything. My life was over. I wish I could just tie cement blocks to my legs and jump in a lake—that would be better than living a horrible life of constant pain and suffering.

I shook my head, trying to block out the negative thoughts. As much as I wanted to throw a tantrum, it probably wasn't the best idea to do so while on a motorcycle. I had to find a way to control my temper for the time being. Tomorrow morning when I'm back in the safety of my own home, I could cope with my anger like a totally normal, fully functional adult—by punching the floor and screaming at the top of my lungs for however long I liked. That way, no one could judge me, except my parents and my idiot brother. They were used to it though, so it was no biggie.

We arrived at a gray, two-story modern house on a hill. Although the shadows of the night had veiled much of the home's stone paneled exterior, I could see over most of the flat, charcoal colored roof. The property wasn't very tall, perhaps only ten feet, but it was definitely wide, stretching far across the hillside. A sleek white car was parked outside the garage, adjacent to the road. Franklin unlocked the solid, hardwood entrance of his home, and escorted me inside.

A wave of cold air hit me the moment I stepped through the door. A large Rottweiler appeared to greet us. Curious, his tiny brown eyes studied me for a moment. The creature's muscles were practically bulging, and his dark coat was sleek and shiny. Tiny cropped tail wagging energetically, the dog leapt at me like a puppy, his large body almost knocked me over. My face and hands were covered with sticky slobber in a matter of seconds, the dog's smooth tongue tickled my skin. I laughed, my heart beating fast as I hugged and wrestled playfully with the strong, loving creature.

"Chill out, Chop-Chop," Franklin grabbed the dog's green collar, and yanked him back. "You a'ight, Trace?"

"I'm fine," I winced at my slob drenched hand. "A little wet though. You never told me you had a dog, doofus."

"He ain't actually mine, I'm dog sittin' for one of my homies. Chop's been livin' with me for the longest though, got nothin' but love for little homie."

Franklin led me down a narrow hall, and into his living room. It was a dim-lit area, picture perfect and neat, like a furniture catalog cover page. I was hesitant to sit on the maroon couch, worried that I'd wrinkle or stain the spotless, plush fabric. Hip-hop music played softly from a small radio in the corner, and traces of cigarette smoke, pine needles, and cologne scented the space.

"Make yourself comfortable, girl," Franklin said, kicking off his shoes. "What's mine is yours. I'ma make some calls, see if I can finally get through to your pops." He turned, and disappeared into the hall.

With Franklin gone, I decided to wander about the spacious sitting area, admiring the abstract art tacked to the creamy walls, and the polished, oak wood floors, devoid of dust and clutter. His house had such enormous windows. Through them, I could see into the heart of the city. Fog and shadows blurred the mess of buildings, but the lights glittered through the night like falling stars, bright and never-ending, stretching as far as the eye could see.

It was an amazing sight.

I explored the house for a short time longer, I had to find the bathroom to cleanse my face and hands of Chop's slobber. Once I was done, I found myself drawn right back to the windows, mesmerized by the city's sparkling radiance.

There was a sensation of soft fur brushing against my legs. It was Chop, his big head nuzzled me for attention. I sunk to the floor, and the beautiful creature cuddled up to me. I loved the comforting weight of his fluffy noggin in my lap. I stroked my fingers through his fur, and held my panda bear tight to my chest.

With my two new furry friends by my side, everything in the world felt right. Maybe I didn't need to throw tantrums to cope with my anger. I needed companionship, someone to be there for me whenever I felt like my life was in shambles. A dog would be perfect, assuming I could find one as cute and loving as Chop, and my panda.

"Trace?" Franklin called out to me.

I turned, and spotted him lounging on the maroon couch, with a glass red wine between his fingers. "Oh, hey," I smiled at him. "I didn't realize you were back."

"It's cool. Looks like you and Chop are gettin' along."

"Chop is the best, he's such a good boy."

"Little homie knows how to behave in front of the ladies. The moment you leave though, he'll be back to eatin' up everythin' in the house, and shittin' anywhere he wants. For real, I ain't never had a dog who shit so damn much. You don't even wanna know how big his turds be, girl. Sometimes that shit be like twelve inches long and—"

"Seriously Frank, ew," I cringed. "First of all, that's like, way too much information. Second of all, do you usually go around measuring dog poop with a ruler?"

He grinned. "Nah, I don't. My bad, I got carried away. By the way, I still can't get ahold of your pops."

I sighed. "I hope he's okay."

"Me too. I talked to Jimmy though, he's spendin' the night with one of his homies. How 'bout you? You good? Need anythin'?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure? You ain't tired? Hungry? Thirsty?"

"I am kinda thirsty." I scrambled into a stance, plopped down on the couch beside him and snatched the wine glass from his hand. "Thanks," I swallowed it in one gulp, savoring the sweet, crispy taste.

"Damn," Franklin smiled. "You coulda just asked. I got bottles on top of bottles of Moscato."

"Where? Gimme, gimme, I need more booze in my life."

He stood and forged for the hall. "Maybe some alcohol will put her bossy little ass to sleep," he grumbled to himself.

I cleared my throat loudly. "Excuse me? What'd you say?"

"Nothin'," he replied innocently.

Franklin returned a few seconds later with another wine glass, and a brand-new bottle of Moscato. He poured a generous amount into both our cups. I gazed at the reddish liquid, and the crystal ice cubes floating near the rim of my glass. Mom and Dad never trusted me to drink responsibly. I was twenty-four years old, damn it, and still, they'd hide the alcohol so Jimmy and I couldn't find it. Now that my parents weren't around to stop me, I didn't hesitate to throw my head back and drink it all down. Franklin followed suit, draining his glass shortly after me. I was already beginning to feel a buzz, my insides tingled, and it felt damn good.

I shoved my empty cup toward him. "Hook me up, big boy."

"You must be trippin'," Franklin shook his head. "You had enough, I ain't sure if I can handle you gettin' anymore crazy than you already are."

"Who are you? My dad?" I clutched the Moscato bottle and poured us another drink. "Here, you need to loosen up. C'mon, drink it, it'll be fun." I nudged him playfully. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon—"

"A'ight, a'ight," he grumbled between clenched teeth. "Let's get faded, fuck it."

We chugged our wine, and then refilled our glasses, repeating the process all over again. A warm, fuzzy sensation flushed through me. Franklin leaned forward, and slipped out of his hoodie, revealing a white tank top underneath.

Franklin was a living work of art, his muscles defined and bulging, his beautiful brown skin unblemished. Every slight movement he made gave away at his strength. I found myself gawking at him, slack-jawed, I was tempted to reach out to him. One touch wouldn't hurt, would it? Maybe it was the alcohol talking, playing games with my mind, intensifying his rugged good looks. The urge to molest him was growing stronger by the minute. But I had to resist, I had to behave like a proper lady, for as long as I could at least.

"So," Franklin broke the silence. "What's the real reason you couldn't find nobody to take you out today?"

"Uh…" It was a struggle, but I managed to take my eyes off him, snapping out of my lust-induced trance. "I told you already, my girlfriends bailed on me."

"Ain't you like a celebrity?"

"I'm known worldwide for my awesome Fame or Shame audition, so yes, I am a celebrity. And, might I add, I made it to the final round, easy-peasy."

"Cool, 'cept you didn't win."

I rolled my eyes. "Who cares, I'm still a celebrity, got it?"

"A'ight, my bad, girl. Relax, I'm just teasin'," he smiled. "I bet niggas would do anythin' for a chance to take you on a date. Your Lifeinvader inbox probably blowin' up right now as we speak."

"Of course, I'll have you know that there's plenty of dudes who want a piece of this. Unfortunately, a large portion of them are deranged, and need to be in straitjackets. Don't you remember what happened earlier?"

"Yeah, yo' obsessed ass fans got tilted over a fuckin' autograph, so they broke into your crib and tried to kidnap you."

"What makes you so sure they were going to kidnap me?"

"It's just an educated guess. When some fools pull up to a chick's crib with a gun, some rope and their car windows tinted, it's a safe assumption they probably tryna snatch her."

I sighed heavily. "I miss my life before the fame. Everything was so simple. I used to have privacy, you know? Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

I shifted toward him, our knees brushed. "Why'd you save me? They had a gun. Weren't you scared? What if they shot you?"

"I did it for your pops." He shrugged his shoulders. "Just 'cause a situation seems scary, don't mean you gotta run from it. Dealin' with it, and comin' out the other side makes you stronger. Ain't the first gun a nigga pulled on me, probably won't be the last."

"Okay, but you could've dropped me at some crappy hotel, and called it a day. You didn't have to buy me clothes, take me to a festival, feed me and give me gifts."

"What? Don't think you're worth all that?"

I sighed. "I'd like to think so, but sometimes, I'm not too sure."

Silent and attentive, Franklin studied me. Bewilderingly, there was genuine compassion in his eyes, his soft gaze alone had soothed me. I wasn't used to this kind of intimacy, but I didn't shy away from it. It was nice to know someone in the world cared.

"A lot of the time, I feel like I ain't shit either," Franklin said, his voice low and gentle. "It's like a little voice constantly gnawin' at the back of my mind, plantin' seeds of doubt and shit. But you can't let the doubts win, girl. You, me, and everyone else in the world, whether they're crazy fucks or not—everybody needs someone to have their back when shit gets rough. You needed someone to be there for you today, so I stepped in, and it was worth it, every moment of it. Makin' you smile, girl, was the highlight of my day."

"Aw, Frank…" Tongue-tangled by his sweet words, I flung myself toward him, playfully, my head landed in his lap, and my arms around his waist.

He chuckled, threading his fingers through my blonde locks. His touch was soothing, calming. In a perfect world, I could linger here forever, never growing tired of his warmth and closeness.

"What a day, huh?" I touched a hand over his stomach, tracing my finger along the hard lines of his sculpted abdomen through his shirt. "I thought for sure I was dead meat when those dudes broke into my house. I can't believe I'm here, alive and breathing, taking refuge in a strange house with a man I barely know. And for some reason, I'm perfectly fine with it. There's nowhere else I rather be."

"If anythin', a near-death experience should teach you to live life to the fullest," Franklin replied, he squeezed my hand lightly. "Tomorrow ain't promised. So, enjoy yourself, a good time is what you need, it helps get your mind off things."

"You're right. Do you think there's a chance they'll come after me again?"

"Nah, I'm with you, you're safe. Can't nobody hurt you."

"I know. I don't mean to be a worrywart but, it just sucks sometimes, living in a world that's so frightening. I wish things could be different. I wish I could walk down the street alone at night, without worrying about someone lurking in the shadows, trying to hurt me. I wish I could accept a drink at a party without wondering whether someone spiked it. I wish I didn't have to double check if my doors are locked before bed, afraid that someone might barge in…"

Brown eyes laced with concern, Franklin's calloused fingertips massaged my skin as he listened to me, his expression thoughtful.

"I don't want to always play the victim, but it feels like its the only card I've ever been dealt," I continued. "It doesn't help that people are so judgmental. They think I don't have a problem in the world, just because of my financial status. Sure, it's great to have nice things, but if you don't have love and companionship, friends and family who understand you and accept you for who you are, then what good is the money anyway?"

"I feel you," he said. "From the outside lookin' in, it seems like rich motherfuckers have perfect fuckin' lives—mansions, nice cars, jewelry, expensive clothes, plastic bodies, maids… but it's all smoke and mirrors. Everybody got problems, rich assholes included, they just different from broke ass people problems."

"That's a good way of putting it. I feel like I've been whining about my problems all day. It's your turn now. Let's be tipsy, whiny, and depressed together."

"Well shit, if you were to ask me what I thought about this shit a few months ago, my answer woulda been completely different. I used to think money solved everythin'. I fantasied about fast cars, beautiful women, a giant ass crib, the best fuckin' weed a nigga could possibly afford. Shit, I put every fiber of my being into hustlin'. I didn't give a fuck about the sacrifices I made, the bridges I burnt, the people I hurt. And finally, I got everythin' I wanted." He let out a long, drawn out sigh before continuing. "Sometimes, when I look back on it, when I'm in this empty ass house, full of all my nice ass material shit that nobody gives a fuck about, you know how I feel?"

"Tell me," I mumbled.

"Dead," he answered. "I feel really fuckin' dead. I think that's the scariest part, not the loneliness or remorse—it's the lyin' awake night after night, 'cause you can't sleep, and you're too empty inside to shed a tear, or even fuckin' care. It's a vicious cycle, a miserable, fucked up cycle. How's that for being tipsy, and depressin' as shit?"

My stomach tightened. "That's gotta be the most depressing thing I've ever heard. You don't feel that way right now, do you?"

"Nah," he sighed, and flashed a sweet, pearly white smile. "I'm feelin' good right now, chillin' here with you."

"Good." I cupped his cheek, the sensation of his beard rubbing against my skin tickled. A yawn escaped me. I rubbed at my eyes, my limbs felt heavy.

"Gettin' tired now, huh?" Franklin asked.

"Yeah." I grasped his broad shoulders and began to, very lazily, pull myself up. In the process of my sluggish attempt to climb to my feet, Franklin's strong, blunt fingers seized my waist. With surprising gentleness, he drew me into his embrace. My behind settled on his lap, I hugged him tight, the warm sensation of our bodies pressed together caused my stomach to flutter.

His arm slipped under my legs, and he lifted my frail body into the air with ease, carrying me bridal-style. Cradled in the protection of his powerful arms, I buried my face in his smooth neck, breathing in this scent of his skin. Franklin's earthy cologne smelled heavenly, clean like freshly cut timber. Subtle hints of cigarette smoke and sweat worked its way into the mix, rising from the collar of his shirt. Altogether, his aroma was tantalizingly addictive. Like a drug, I continued to breathe him in, unable to get enough.

He carried me into the hall, and down a flight of narrow steps, making a sharp left into a dim-lit, air-conditioned bedroom. It was wide, with a glass walk-in closet, and a neatly made king-sized bed. The white walls were adorned with a collection of framed sports memorabilia—autographed baseball and basketball jerseys. There were posters of famous old school rappers as well, OG Loc and Madd Dogg.

Franklin whisked me across the gray tiled floor, and lowered my petite frame onto the satiny mattress.

"Isn't this your bed?" I asked, rubbing my fingers over the incredibly soft comforter.

"It's yours for the night," he replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll take the couch."

"A-are you sure? I don't mind sleeping on the couch, it's no biggie, really—"

"This ain't up for debate," Franklin declared.

"Fine." I kicked off my sandals, placed my panda bear on the wood nightstand, and laid back, trying to get comfortable. Although his bed was way more luxurious than mine, the mattress composed of firm memory foam, there was nothing like home. I missed my room, it was like my own tiny sanctuary.

As if I was a helpless, small child, Franklin pulled back the sheets and tucked me in.

I rested my head on the cool, plush pillows. "You didn't have to do that, silly. I'm not a baby, you know."

"Coulda fooled me," he teased, pulling away.

Annoyed, I latched onto his shirt, yanking him close, his bulky upper body hovered over me. "I'm serious," I argued, throwing the stupid covers off me. "Sure, I'm still living with my parents, and yes, they spoil me like hell, but that doesn't mean I'm a stupid, ditzy blonde who can't take care of herself and make her own decisions."

He blinked. "Chill, girl. I ain't say all that."

"Yes, you did. That little snide comment you made said it all."

Franklin smirked, spots of gold danced within his brown gaze. I snickered nervously, stupefied by his enigmatic, whiskey colored eyes, and the thick lashes which framed them. Suddenly, by a random, involuntary impulse, I found myself fascinated with his lips, my fingertips skimmed over them lightly. They were soft and full, not at all chapped. I wanted to taste them, even if he was a judgmental jerk. He remained still, brows furrowed in curiosity as I caressed him.

"Trace," Franklin muttered. "Do you normally be feelin' people up like this, or should I be flattered?"

"You should be super flattered right now." My desire swept away my inhibitions, and I leaned in, pressing my lips to the corner of his mouth. Instead of kissing me back, his face nuzzled mine, the bristly sensation of his beard caused me to grin. But in truth, I was frustrated. He seemed to be exercising restraint, his muscles tensed, and neck corded. I had no idea why he was playing so hard to get, but I gladly accepted the challenge.

My lips enveloped his earlobe, nibbling lightly. He sighed deeply as I planted a delicate trail of kisses along his thick neck, slowly working my way down to his collarbone. Franklin shivered, and drew a ragged breath.

"Trace," he mumbled, his breathing heavy, and uneven. "I don't…I don't think this is a good idea, baby."

"What's stopping us?" I asked between kisses. His resistance was slowly crumbling under my influence, his broad palms caressed my thighs. I flushed, my temperature skyrocketed. "I want you," I whispered, swirling my tongue over the base of his throat, stimulating his skin gently.

Abruptly, and with bruising strength, Franklin gripped my waist and threw me aside the bed. I yelped, surprised by his sudden roughness. He climbed on top of me, and sealed his lips over mine, taking possession of my mouth. It was a sloppy kiss, long and passionate, with the strong scent of sweet wine being traded between our hot, interweaving breaths. His lips were so soft and full, exotic and vastly different than I was accustomed to, but I loved it.

I squirmed beneath his powerful body, a burning dart of pleasure zipped through me. For the first time in my life, I felt completely powerless, his hands tightened over my wrists, pinning me down, restricting my movement. I moaned into his mouth, surprisingly enjoying the erotic feeling of total surrender.

I parted my lips, eager for the taste and feel of his tongue stroking mine. The first sensual swipe of his tongue left me shaking, breathless, and yearning for more. He settled himself between my thighs, our bodies molded together. I caressed his huge, muscled arms, relishing the feeling of pure, unprecedented strength beneath my fingertips. The pleasurable sensation of his hardness bulging through the confides of his joggers, and grinding against me with every slight movement he made flooded my core with heat.

I let out a tight whimper as he broke the kiss. His lips lowered to my neck, consuming me in a rush of wet, frantic kisses. I bit my lip, my insides boiled with desire.

"Frank…" I murmured between panting breaths.

Suddenly, and without warning, his body froze at the sound of my voice. "Fuck," he cursed, scrambling off the bed and tearing away from me in a hurry.

My stomach dropped. "F-Frank?" I asked, perching myself up. I stared at him incredulously, confused by his weird behavior. "What's the matter?"

"The fuck is wrong with me?" he muttered to himself, his husky voice barely a whisper. His broad chest rose and fell heavily as he struggled to catch his breath.

Frustrated, I ran to him, my fingers clenched his white tank top. "Tell me what's wrong."

"We can't do this, Trace. I'm sorry."

"W-what? Why?"

"We just can't, a'ight?" Franklin attempted to slip past me, but I refused to loosen my grip on his shirt. He glared at me, a stony expression on his face. "Let go," he demanded.

"No," I stared back into his intense, smoldering eyes fearlessly. "Aren't you tired of being miserable and alone? Because I sure as hell am. Don't you want to be happy?"

"Well shit, doesn't everybody?"

"So, what's the problem then? Why are you acting like such a weirdo?"

"Yo' pops is the problem," he blurted out, roughly jerking himself from my grasp. "He ain't gon' approve of this shit, girl, and you fuckin' know it. Who knows what that dramatic motherfucker would do if he found out?"

"Seriously?" I yelled, pulling at my hair. "Franklin, I'm an adult, who gives two shits what my dad thinks—"

"I care!" He shouted over me. I trembled, unnerved by his intimidating, booming voice. I recoiled, shrinking away to the bed, hugging my legs to my chest.

Franklin pressed his back to the wall, and sunk to the floor, his head bowed. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I didn't know what to think, or what to do. One second he was sweet, kind and understanding, and the next, he was inexplicably angry, cold and irritable. In a way, his erratic demeanor reminded me of Uncle T, but on a much smaller, less deranged scale.

"My bad," Franklin was the first to speak, his voice weak. "I ain't mean to come off like that, sweetie. I'm sorry."

I nodded, his apology seemed sincere.

"I owe everythin' to your pops," he continued. "This house, my car… shit, if it wasn't for him, I'd be six feet under by now, buried and forgotten—another cliché, tragic fuckin' story of another stupid nigga who got clipped in the hood. I knew where all the gangbanging and hustlin' was leadin', but I didn't give a fuck. I was ready to die, ain't have nothin' to live for. Nobody gave a shit about me anyway."

"Franklin…" I fumbled, unsure of what to say.

"And then your pops came along. He taught me a lot, helped me move up in the world, showed me the finer shit in life. He's like, the father I ain't never had, you feel me? Sure, he's crazy as shit, but he's the only person in the fucked-up world that hasn't failed me yet. Tryin' to get in his daughter's pants is one hell of a way of sayin' thank you, don't you think? I mean, damn, I know I'm a piece of shit, but I'm tryin' to be better."

"Stop it, you're not a bad person, Frank."

"You don't know me, girl." He laughed stiffly. "I ain't the type of guy anybody would want their daughter to date. If you weren't so fuckin' naive, you'd be runnin' for the hills right now."

I watched Franklin intently. Who was it that made him feel so undesirable, and hard to love? What terrible thing could had happened to him to make him so jaded? There was pain hidden behind his cold, flinty stare. His anger was nothing but a defense mechanism, he used it to keep others at a distance, maybe out of fear of vulnerability, or being hurt. The world hadn't been kind to him after all, a heart could only be broken so many times before you get tired of picking up the pieces.

He had every right to be angry and guarded. He appeared strong on the outside, but I could tell something inside him was very broken. I didn't know why, and I certainly didn't know how, but I wanted to make him feel whole again. I wanted to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart, and fit them back together, no matter how small the shards, no matter how long it took.

"There's more to it than just my dad, isn't there?" I asked.

He gazed at me. "What?"

"I get it now, the reason you're all alone. Correct me if I'm wrong—you've been hurt so many times that you're scared of being vulnerable. You listen, but you never trust, and you smile, and you laugh, but you never let anyone get close. That's why you feel empty, and dead inside, because you aren't really living. You have to take risks, be vulnerable, and allow yourself to feel something other than pain, anger and remorse. Don't let the loneliness eat away at you until there's nothing left."

Franklin was silent, his head bowed and elbow on his knee. He seemed to be brooding, his mind fully immersed in deep, melancholy thought.

"I know you and my dad have done some bad things," I said. "But you aren't the evil person you think you are. I know you have a good heart, it's just broken and hurting. And as far as I'm concerned, everyone who's turned their back on you in the past is missing out. I know we just met, and maybe I'm crazy like everyone else in this city, but I've seriously never felt more alive. Crazy stalkers aside, this has been the best day of my life—a Valentine's Day I'll never, ever forget. And it's all because of you, Franklin."

The stony expression on his face cracked, and he beamed at me fondly, his gaze warm and tender. "Damn, that was...sweet. You got a nigga feelin' all sorts of shit right now. Infatuation is a real bitch, ain't it?"

"It seriously is. It makes people say, and do crazy things." I reached out to him, making grabby hands. "Come here, you're so far away. I miss you."

He laughed and pulled himself up, rushing into my arms. His muscular body tackled me onto the bed, soft and playfully.

"You're so fat," I teased, shoving him aside and rolling on top of him.

"Nah, you just tiny," he replied, giving my butt a slight pinch. "We gotta get some meat on them bones, girl."

"Nope," I wrinkled my nose in protest. "I'm fun-sized, there's a difference."

"Uh-huh." His blunt fingers tickled my sides lightly.

I cackled, slapping his hand. "Stop! No tickling, I can't take it."

Franklin smirked, his face nuzzled mine sweetly. "There's a lot more to you than what's on the surface, Trace. You ain't afraid to express how you feel, I respect that. I wish I could be more like you, but it's hard. Maybe you can teach me some shit, you just gotta bear with me, baby."

"I'm with you, Frank, I promise."

He planted a delicate kiss on my cheek, and my skin tingled, butterflies in my stomach. I tangled my arms around his neck, and he hugged me close, his touch warm and cozy. Resting my head on his hard chest, I closed my eyes and listened to his calm tempo of his heartbeat. I never knew such a feeling of peace existed, I'd linger in his safe embrace forever if I could. His cuddles were like medicine, it soothed my mind, and rejuvenated my soul.

"Ay," Franklin murmured, his hand stroked my back lovingly. "This thing we got goin' on, whatever the fuck it is, I ain't too sure—let's hold off tellin' Michael, a'ight?"

"So he can go all protective psycho dad on you?" I grimaced. "Yeah, let's not tell him anything, ever."

It was difficult to fathom that before today, we were only strangers. I had no idea what we were now either, friends maybe, and hopefully, one day, something more. One thing was for sure though, I was captivated by his complexity, my curious heart ached to unravel his secrets, and tear down his defenses. There was so much I didn't know about his past, and his peculiar relationship with my dad. I intended to find out every bit of it, they couldn't hide the truth from me forever.

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 **I hope you guys enjoyed reading, please leave a review, I'd love to know what you think! At the moment, this is currently just a one-shot, but I might continue it depending on the feedback I receive. So show some love if you'd like me to continue it. And if not, well I hoped you enjoyed this short bit anyway. :P Happy Valentine's Day guys!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So because of all the positive feedback I received, I decided to turn this one shot into a multi-chapter fic. It's a lot of work, but also a blast to write, and there simply just isn't enough lengthy Franklin/Tracey stories floating around to choose from, so I'm glad to be adding this to the pool. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

"Tracey," Franklin's voice whispered my name, his broad palm caressed my skin, rousing me from my slumber.

"Franklin?" I asked, my voice weak and groggy. Sunlight glinted off the excessively large, bedroom windows. I winced, blinded by the morning's luminous rays. "Holy crap, you need to invest in some curtains…"

"Rise and shine, girl." Franklin stood at the side of the bed and hovered over me, fully clothed in a white t-shirt, a pair of loose fitting, green camo-printed joggers, and black hi-tops. At least one of us was ready to take on the day, the fresh, clean scent of expensive body-wash mixed with his trademark woodsy cologne rose from his skin.

The last thing I remembered was cuddling with him until I drifted to sleep last night, he must had slipped away while I was knocked out to shower and dress himself.

"Your pops called," he murmured, his minty breath on my neck. "It's time to take you home, he's worried 'bout you, Trace. He thinks you might be in danger, or some shit."

"Five more minutes," I begged sleepily. "I'm perfectly fine, tell him to stop being so dramatic."

"Lazy ass," he teased.

I yawned, and reached out to him, my hand smoothed over the green fabric of his Los Santos snapback. "Frank, why do you always wear a hat?"

"Nah, not always. Why? Don't like it?"

I gazed into his dark brown eyes. "I like you."

"Mhmm, I'm feelin' you too." He smiled, and planted a gentle kiss on my temple. "Now stop with the mushy shit, and get that fine, lazy ass outta bed. We got shit to do, girl."

"Ugh, fine, and you say I'm bossy. Can you at least help me up?"

Franklin clasped my hands, and with a gentle tug, he pulled me to my feet. Arms raised high into the air, I stretched, my stomach grumbled. "Hey, can we get something to eat before we go?"

"I got you," he replied. "We'll make a stop for breakfast on the way there, a'ight?"

"Sounds good to me." As I slipped my feet into my sandals, Chop appeared, he ran into the bedroom and plopped down before me, panting with excitement. I crouched, and wrapped my arms around the warm, furry creature. He responded with a flurry of wet licks to my face. I smiled sadly. "I'm gonna miss you, boy."

"Ay," Franklin snapped his fingers for Chop's attention. "You wanna roll with us, little homie?"

Chop's tiny cropped tail wagged wildly in response, his hefty paws tapping against the hardwood floor.

"I think that means 'yes' in doggo language," I said.

"A'ight, cool, let's go," Franklin turned for the door, and beckoned us to follow.

I swiped up my panda bear from the nightstand, and Chop and I tailed after Franklin. We departed the bedroom, made a turn up a flight of stairs into the hall, and stepped out the front door, into the warm morning air. The sun's vibrant rays gleamed over Vinewood Hills, and illuminated the vivid green lawns surrounding us. A chorus of birdsong pierced through the noisy strangle of city traffic. The clean, earthy aroma of freshly mowed grass lingered in the air.

Franklin took the wheel of his white, sporty sedan parked outside his garage. I slipped into the back with Chop, just so I could sneak in some cuddles while on the road.

We pulled up to my house later than expected, considering I was super indecisive of which restaurant I wanted to eat at. I eventually settled with a glazed donut and a latte from Bean Machine. Franklin ordered a cream cheese bagel, which he shared more than half with Chop. He was too generous for his own good. It was cute.

Once we arrived at my home, Franklin cut his sedan's engine right beside Daddy's black Tailgater in the driveway. Dad and Uncle T stood before the front door of the house, they seemed to be engaged in a heated argument, as usual.

"You just had to go and fuck everything up, didn't ya?" A lit cigarette trapped between his trembling fingers, Dad paced back and forth around the driveway as he spoke, using dramatic, sweeping hand gestures. "After everything we did to settle our beef with Madrazo—"

"You mean, after everything I did?" Uncle T shouted, his voice harsh and grating. "Hijacking Merryweather's precious little choo-choo train was all my idea. If it weren't for my brilliant leadership and direction, you'd still be shacked up with me in Sandy Shores. I believe a thank you is in order."

"Un-fucking-believable," Dad shook his head. "If it weren't for your so-called 'brilliant leadership and direction', we wouldn't have been in that fucked-up situation in the first place—"

"Daddy!" I scrambled out of the car and ran into his arms, disrupting his tirade. I buried my face in his black suit jacket and sighed. With the amount of danger that followed him, each passing day he was still alive and breathing was a miracle.

He plucked his cigarette onto the ground and hugged me tight. "Hey princess, thank god you're okay. Frank told me what happened, you alright kiddo?"

"I'm fine. Where's Mom?"

"Your mom and your brother are in the Grand Senora desert, they're laying low at a safe house there for a couple days—"

"Why?" I pulled away from him. "What's going on?"

"Well…" Uncle T laid his tattooed hand on my shoulder. A foul stench rose from his body, he reeked of cat piss and beer. It didn't bother me however, I was used to it. "There's a small matter of a really pissed off Mexican drug cartel trying to kill all of us, for a totally unjustifiable reason, might I add."

My stomach dropped. "W-what?"

"Yeah, biting Madrazo's second ear off is a 'totally unjustifiable reason'," Dad said in finger quotes, "for the guy to put a hit out on us, huh?"

Uncle T reached into the pocket of his tan cargo pants, and whipped out what appeared to be a detached and fleshy, human ear. I cringed, my hand flew to my chest. It was shrunken and disgusting. I couldn't bear to look at it. "Cut it with the sarcasm, Mikey-boy," Uncle T grumbled between clenched teeth. "Before I bite your ear off next, and collect it as a trophy. I told Madrazo what would happen if he cheated on Patricia again. It's not like I didn't warn the guy. Look at the bright side, at least we can get out of this plastic city and lay low in Sandy Shores, right?"

Dad grimaced. "If you think I'm going to step one foot back in that death trap you call a trailer—"

Franklin appeared beside me, and winced at the sight of the bloody ear. "Damn T, what the fuck, man?"

"What?" Uncle T asked. "Don't recognize a wholesome, edible human organ when you see one? I'd share, but this baby right here has sentimental value."

"Yo' ass just keep gettin' crazier by the day, man-eatin' motherfucker," Franklin said. "What the fuck happened? How y'all manage to fuck shit up this time?"

"Not now, F." Dad gazed at me. "Tracey, baby, you're gonna be spending a few days with your mother and brother in Paleto Bay. Go inside and pack everything you'll need, okay?"

"No, I don't want to," I grumbled. "This is so friggin' random, and stupid! I have a life, and friends here. I don't want to go live in the middle of the desert, the Wi-Fi there sucks! How am I going to make it to my Pilate classes? And what about my daily pumpkin spice lattes—"

"Tracey!" Dad glared at me and clutched my shoulders, giving me a stern shake. "Listen to me, princess. Your life is more important than Wi-Fi, Pilate classes and pumpkin spice lattes, alright? Don't fight me on this. Just go in the house and pack your stuff."

"Whatever." I jerked myself from his grip and reluctantly stormed into the house. Chop followed at my heels as I stomped up the steps toward my room. Thankfully the place didn't stink of gunpowder anymore, but the bullet holes all over the walls were unnerving…

Once I reached my room, I slammed the door shut behind me and strolled over to my closet. Chop leapt onto my bed, and watched me claw through my wardrobe in a frenzy for suitable outfits to pack. Considering I had no choice but to live in the desert for a few days, I decided to change out of my jeans and into a short, pink pleaded skirt.

Ugh, my life seriously could not get any worse. I would give anything to be a normal girl, raised by sane, responsible parents, who's psychotic ways didn't put their children's lives at stake like every other week. As soon as I raised up the money, I'm moving out of this deranged city.

I packed up the necessities needed for the trip, including my skin care products, my makeup, my glamorous shoes and numerous outfits, and then made my way back downstairs with Chop. It was tough trying to tote all three of my fully packed, black polka dot suitcases to the front door, but I managed.

I packed light this time around. Usually when I traveled, I would take much more, but considering daddy was being so dramatic, I had to be quick.

There was a soft murmur of voices on the other side of the front door. I tip-toed close to the doorframe, quiet like a ninja, and focused in on the conversation.

"I swear Frank, there's just something about this city," my dad's voice seeped beneath the doorway. "It makes people crazy, it makes everything fucked. Those fucks who broke into the house left a note in Tracey's room, they threatened to come after my baby girl again."

My stomach dropped. Jeez, I just couldn't catch a break…

"Ay man, chill," Franklin responded. "We finna handle this shit, dog."

"Listen Frank," Dad said. "I appreciate what you did kid, not letting any harm come to my little girl."

"Yeah, no problem. I got you."

"Fuck—did you see what the fuck they did to my house? It looks like a fucking shooting range in there, those motherfuckers used my home as target practice! Do you have any idea how much it's gonna cost to replace all my shit?"

"Yeah, but its a'ight, ain't like you can't afford it. Be cool, man—"

"Be cool?" Dad snorted. "How the fuck can I be cool about this? They break into my house, and try to kidnap my little girl? Some fucking nerve—I want those motherfuckers dead, F. I gotta protect my baby girl. I'm not gonna let them get close to her again."

"A'ight, the fuck we waitin' for? Let's creep on them fools."

"Sure, that'd be easy, if we knew who the fuck they were. Look, me and Trev can handle this, alright? There's something I need you to do for me, kid. It's a huge favor, and you might not like it, but fuck, I'm running out of options here."

"Fo' sho' dog, anythin' you need."

"Amanda and Jimmy are at a safe house near Paleto Bay. It's off the grid, far out from the city, and secluded—the perfect place to lay low. I need you to take Tracey there, and stay with them for a while. It won't be easy, my family is nuts, but I need somebody I can trust to protect them while Trevor and I take care of things. Can you do that for me, kid? You're the only one who can do the job right, I don't trust no hired bodyguards or private security around my kids, and especially my wife. She's got a tendency to be a little loose when I ain't around."

Franklin sighed heavily before responding. "Okay… a'ight, man, it's cool. I got you."

"I'll be honest with you, F," Dad continued. "When you go to war with a Mexican drug cartel, things are bound to get messy, they don't fight clean. My family— my kids and my wife, they're in real danger. I'm relying on you kid."

"You talkin' like you know from experience, homie."

"I know a lot man, way more than I'm comfortable with."

"You ain't the only one. I know what Madrazo is capable of, I'll keep your family safe, a'ight? Don't even worry 'bout that shit."

"Thanks, F. I knew I could count on you."

"Whatever you and Trevor 'bout to do, be careful, a'ight? And keep me posted, dog."

"Will do kid. I'll text you the safe house address."

The door swung open, and the two men appeared, staring straight at me.

"Hi," I murmured, my cheeks burned with heat.

"Frank is gonna take care of you, alright?" Daddy planted a kiss on my cheek. "Try not to give my boy a hard time. And tell your mother I love her."

I nodded. "Okay. Be careful, Dad."

"I always am." Dad slipped past me, and disappeared into the house.

Franklin gaped at my three suitcases. "Damn, you sure you finna need all this shit? Your pops said you only gon' be gone for a couple days."

"Yeah, and this is all a couple days' worth of stuff," I replied. "It's seriously not much. I packed light this time around."

"Yeah a'ight, whatever you say."

Chop and I returned to the white sedan and reclaimed our seats in the back, while Franklin made trips back and forth to the house to tote all my stuff to the car. Uncle T was nowhere to be found. I guess he must had left while I was packing.

Once Franklin finished hauling my belongings into the trunk, he reclaimed his seat at the wheel. As if there were little time to waste, he quickly turned on the ignition. The car tires screeched, kicking up gravel within the driveway as we darted onto the road.

I leaned forward, and clutched Franklin's broad shoulders. "So let me get this straight," I muttered. "There's a Mexican drug cartel trying to kill us?"

"That's the gist of it, girl," he replied casually, his eyes glued to the road.

I frowned. "Um, mind if I ask why you're so calm about this? I feel like this is a big freaking deal."

"Might as well keep it cool, ain't no point in trippin' over it, ain't finna change shit anyhow—"

"Frank!" I yelled over him. "Why is a Mexican drug cartel trying to kill us?"

"Trevor's crazy ass pissed them off, that's why. You saw T carryin' 'round that fuckin' ear like a trophy, right? Can't say I'm surprised, that dude leaps at any opportunity to dig on some man meat. Anyway, the ear belongs to Martin Madrazo, our worst fuckin' nightmare."

I swallowed deeply. "Who's Martin Madrazo? What's so scary about him?"

"Well allegedly, he's a leader of a drug cartel, a real ruthless motherfucker, very wealthy and resourceful. All the witnesses who tried to testify against him in court turned up missin'. And unfortunately, me, Trevor and your pops—we all got some fucked up history with 'em."

I twirled a long strand of my hair around my finger, my leg wouldn't stop bouncing. This Madrazo maniac sounded like bad news. "How'd you guys get involved with him in the first place?"

"It all started when I helped your dramatic ass dad fuck up his property, literally broke the support beams and pulled his house off a fuckin' cliff. We ain't have much of a choice but to work for him and settle the debt we owed. We settled shit though, and I thought everythin' was over and done with, but apparently not. Trevor had to go and fuck shit up."

"This is insane! Why would Uncle T bite off his ear in the first place?"

"I ain't too sure. He ain't really get into the specifics, but what I do know is, y'all ain't safe. It's a'ight though, 'cause Paleto Bay should be secluded enough to keep y'all off Madrazo's radar."

"If that was the case, Dad wouldn't be making you stay with us," I pointed out. "I overheard you and Dad talking about a note he found in my room? Those guys who tried to kidnap me, they're still after me, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Franklin frowned. "It's cool though, I ain't leavin' your side. If some shit pops off, I'll be there."

"This sucks," I tumbled back into my seat. "I don't want to go to Paleto Bay, it's so hot, and dry, and empty in the desert. What if I get eaten by a coyote?"

"If anythin', you finna have Chop followin' you around everywhere," he said. "If a coyote rolls up, little homie got your back."

I rubbed my sweaty palms on my skirt. I didn't want Chop getting hurt trying to protect me. "But what if it hurts Chop?"

"Can't nobody hurt Chop. You shoulda saw little homie back in the hood, he a vicious motherfucker, had Balla OGs runnin' scared, shittin' themselves. He can handle a coyote no problem, ain't that right, Chop-Chop?"

"Woof," Chop barked in response.

"I hope you're right, Frank."

"Stop worryin' so much," Franklin said. "You ain't got enough meat on them bones for a coyote to come creepin' on yo' little ass in the first place. Actually, wait, my bad—dogs do like bones. A'ight, maybe you should be worried."

"Frank, you're such an ass," I snapped, and kicked the back of his seat.

"What? I was just playin'."

"You totally weren't." I kicked his seat again. "Do you have a problem with my weight? Is that what's going on here?"

He glared at me through the windshield mirror. "If yo' midget ass don't stop kickin' my fuckin' seat…"

"There you go again!" I cried, folding my arms over my chest. "So what if I'm short and skinny? I can't help it, I was born this way. I've been trying to gain weight, I eat like a total slob, okay? But I have a really fast metabolism, and when you say stuff like that, I feel like you're judging me, and it makes me feel super insecure—"

"Damn, calm the fuck down, a'ight? You givin' me a headache." Franklin patted the empty passenger seat beside him. "Now stop moanin', and come here."

I shook my head. "No. I'm quite comfortable back here, thank you."

"Don't be like that, babe. C'mon, girl. Bring yo' fine ass over here. You know I got too much pride to beg."

"Someone sounds like they miss me."

"Course I do."

"Fine." Reluctantly, I followed his command, climbing into the front seat next to him.

Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, his palm cupped my thigh, and fondled my bare skin. Although his touch was rough and calloused, his soothing caresses felt surprisingly good, and sensual. It seemed so unreal, the way his touch alone affected me. It was so easy to forget my problems and how much my life sucked whenever we were together.

"My bad if I hurt your feelings," he murmured. "I'm sorry, ain't nothin' wrong with your weight, or your height, a'ight? I'm just teasin', I don't mean nothin' by it, but I'll stop if it's botherin' you. It's all good."

"You promise?" I asked. "I don't need a fat booty, or a giant pair of boobies for you to like me?"

He grinned. "Nah, it ain't 'bout your body. Fuck that superficial shit."

"O-okay…" I fumbled. "Why are you interested in a spoiled, overemotional girly girl like me anyway?"

He stole a quick glance at me, and flashed a warm smile before returning his attention back to the road. "You're innocent, and sweet, and honest, and I'm hopin' some of that good inside you rubs off on me."

I chuckled, my stomach fluttered at the sight of his pearly white smile. "Well, I guess I can give you a pass for calling me small, or skinny, or whatever. So long as you're not trying to hint at something, or saying it out of spite like an asshat."

"Nah, when I call you small and shit, I'm just playin' with you, sweetie, a'ight? No shady shit, no ulterior motives—I don't roll like that."

It was good to know Franklin's affection for me stemmed from something deeper than what was on the surface. He wasn't like the usual shallow assholes I dated in the past, who were liars, and cheaters, they'd say and do anything to get in my pants. Franklin however, his words were genuine, brutally honest at times, but I appreciated them nonetheless. I rather be told the bitter truth than a sweet lie.

Although it was going to suck living in the boring, stupid desert, I was excited Franklin would be there with us, but also scared at the same time. My mom and Jimmy could be so embarrassing at times. I was a lot to deal with alone, and if I hadn't drove Franklin crazy yet, they certainly would, Jimmy especially. If my suspicious regarding the terrible internet service was correct, Jimmy wouldn't have his stupid online shooter game to keep him busy. He'll be bored out of his mind, and bothering us all day. Ugh, I had a feeling our trip out of the city was going to go horribly wrong.

I yawned, Franklin's soothing thigh caresses were putting me to sleep. "You think I can sneak in a catnap before we get there?" I asked.

"Yeah, go for it," he returned his grip to the steering wheel. "We got a long way to go."

I shivered, missing his touch. I lunged for his arm, clutched his wrist and settled his hand back on my leg. "Hey, I didn't say you could stop. Keep doing the rubbing thing, please and thank you."

"Bossy ass," he muttered with a smile, and resumed the thigh massage.

* * *

The sun had begun to set by the time we made it to Paleto Bay, painting the desert sky shades of red and pink. Franklin made a turn off the main road onto a bumpy dirt path. We drove for a good mile or so, leaving all signs of civilization behind us, before a modern, two-story home emerged in the distance.

The upscale, cobblestone house was situated on a small, sandy cliff bordering the ocean side, and appeared very much out of place to be in the middle of desert wasteland. Velvet drapes framed the wide, high arched windows, and the flat roof was adorned with pristine white, asphalt roof shingles. It looked a lot more like a vacation house than a safe house.

Without a garage in sight, Franklin parked the car on the side of the dirt road, and we stepped out into the hot, arid air. I stared across the broken waste of desert, observing the tumbleweeds rolling along in the wind. The dusty, rocky landscape, dotted with cactuses, seemed to be never-ending. Big birds circled around us overhead, their cawing and squawking echoed in the distance. I huddled close to Franklin, clenching his shirt. The desert's stillness was rather eerie, so empty and barren, no one to be seen for miles…

He gazed down at me, his brows furrowed. "You a'ight?"

"I'll feel much better once we're inside," I replied. "Let's go—"

The front door of the house abruptly swung open. Fabian appeared, sporting his trademark white see-through tights. Mom emerged from the house after him, her long, dark locks twisted into a bun, wearing her usual red tank top and black yoga pants. She seemed frustrated, her lips pressed into a fine line, and jaw tense.

"Please, Amanda," Fabian dropped onto one knee, and clutched Mom's hand. "Your chakra is blocked, we must resume practice—"

"Fabian, darling," Mom grimaced. "For the twentieth time, I'm in love with my husband. I can't see you anymore. Please, just go. Namaste—"

"Who's that French motherfucker with the manbun?" Franklin whispered.

"That's Mom's old yoga instructor," I grumbled, clutching Franklin's wrist and leading him toward the house. I spotted Chop in the corner of my eye as we made our advance. He rolled about in the hot sand playfully. At least one of us was having a good time.

"Tracey!" Mom beamed at the sight of me. She shuffled away from Fabian and embraced me. "Oh my god sweetie, I'm so glad you're alright."

"Hey Mom," I smiled. "What's the yoga douche doing here?"

"Well…" Mom paused to look back at Fabian. "I was feeling stressed and angry about your father making us drop everything and come out here, my chakra was really imbalanced, so I called Fabian for an emergency session. I thought he changed for the better after what your father did to him at Bean Machine, you know? But I was totally wrong." She gazed at Franklin, and preformed a small bow. "Namaste. Franklin, sweetie, how are you?"

"I'm good," he replied. "How you doin'?"

I furrowed my brows. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"Of course, honey. He's a good friend of your father's, and your brother talks about him all the time, they're really close."

I glared at Franklin. "Seriously? You and my idiot, homo brother are close?"

"Nah, not really," he muttered.

Mom cupped Franklin's stubbled cheek. "Michael told me what happened yesterday," she said. "Thank you so much for watching after Tracey. I know she's a handful. Did she have any temper tantrums or mental breakdowns? You know, when she curls up on the floor like a baby, and kicks and screams like a demon child?"

"Mom, seriously?" My cheeks grew hot. "You're embarrassing me."

"It's just a question, hun. So, did she?"

"Uh, nah, she ain't do nothin' demonic," Franklin feigned a smile. "At least, I don't think she did."

"Amanda," Fabian appeared behind Mom. "The downward dog, your favorite position, yes? Let us practice."

Mom sighed heavily. "Franklin, Tracey, why don't you two go inside? I need to have a talk with Fabian."

"You sure everythin' a'ight out here?" Franklin asked.

"It's fine," Mom replied. "Now go on, I won't be long."

Franklin and I slipped by Mom and Fabian, and approached the house. Although I didn't like the idea of leaving her alone with that dirty sleazeball of a yoga instructor, I knew Mom could handle herself. Besides, the farther away from him I was, the better. If I never heard his weirdly calm, stupid French accent again, it'd be too soon.

"The fuck is the deal with that dude?" Franklin asked as we ascended the porch steps.

"Don't ask," I muttered. "By the way, why the heck does everyone in my family seem to know you so well, except me? It's so weird."

Franklin merely shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno, girl. Michael invited me to your crib multiple times, maybe you should come out of your room and socialize every now and then."

"F-Dog!" Jimmy appeared in the doorway, his fat, tattooed frame blocked the house's entrance, stopping our advance. He wore his usual black and red Fruntalot jersey, and baggy blue jeans. As if I didn't even exist, he beamed at Franklin, a big, goofy smile spread across his face. "My main dude, my brother from another mother! What's going on, homie?"

"Ay man, what's crackin'?" Franklin gave him a fist bump.

"Dude, you haven't been returning my calls, you never send any texts. Not cool, bro. You been dodging your boy Jizzle?"

"Nah, I've been busy, dog. Ain't nothin' personal."

"It's cool, I guess. So, Mom said you're gonna be staying with us for a while?"

"Yeah, I'ma be watchin' over y'all for a few days, while your pops is out handlin' business."

"Wow dude, you're gonna be like our replacement Dad, huh? Or like, the super cool big brother we never had? Either way, this is so fucking awesome, because I always wanted like, a black adopted brother. I tried to convince Mom and Dad into getting one, but they're lame sometimes. And I know you're only five years older than me, but I still look up to you dude, you're like my role model, even though you broke into my house and stole my whip."

My eyes widened. "W-what? You stole Jimmy's car?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Franklin muttered. "It's a long story."

I shook my head. Why did everyone insist on keeping things from me?

"If I lacked empathy altogether, and had little respect for human life like you and Michael do," Jimmy continued, "I'd totally be a gangbanger too, y'know—"

"Jimmy, man…" Franklin sighed. "It's only been a minute since we've been chillin', and you already pissin' me the fuck off."

"Jeez, relax homie. I'm just making conversation. Why do you have a stick up your ass?"

"It's fuckin' hot out here, dog."

"Are you gonna let us in the house or what, Jimmy?" I asked.

"Oh right, sorry guys." Jimmy stepped aside, allowing us entry. "Anyway, we're gonna have so much fun. The homies are back at it again! C'mon, come check out the crib, F-Dog."

We strolled into the house, a wave of cold air struck me once I laid foot on the beige carpeted floor, soothing my sweaty, flushed skin. _Yes!_ The place had air-conditioning, thank goodness.

Jimmy took the lead. He guided us down a narrow white hall, past a flight of polished wood stairs, and a small yellow kitchen to the left. At the end of the hall was a living room. Although small, it was a cozy, colorful space, the walls were painted bright yellow, and the rustic furniture was embellished with vibrant red pillows and cushions.

There was a bulky air-conditioner in the corner window frame, humming lightly. I gravitated to it, and hovered over the contraption, basking in the cool air pouring from the vents.

Franklin slouched into the brown leather sofa, and Jimmy propped himself on armrest beside him.

"Man, is it good to see you, F-Dog," Jimmy said.

Franklin glared at him. "The fuck I tell you 'bout callin' me that?"

"Sorry, it's just been so long since we repped the set, y'know? When's the last time you and your boy Jizzle got crunk together?" He jabbed Franklin's broad shoulder playfully. "Dude, we should totally blow this joint and go do something fun. Please man, I'd do anything to get out of this shitty house, the internet here fucking sucks, I can barely get on Lifeinvader. I can't play Righteous Slaughter and troll nerds without internet! I feel like I'm living in the stone ages here."

Franklin scrubbed a hand over his face, annoyed. "Jimmy, homie, we in middle of the fuckin' desert, and the nearest town ain't for miles."

"You have a car, don't you? We can drive—"

"I ain't tryna waste gas just to entertain yo' big ass. Go find somethin' to do, get in touch with nature or some shit."

"Jesus!" Jimmy threw his pudgy arms into the air. "You are just like my dad, Franklin! You're like an old, disgruntled baby boomer in a millennial's body! People like you are the reason I can't find a job and start my life, your consistent bad mood just weighs everyone down, no wonder I'm a shut in with no friends. You know what? Fine, you don't have to take me anywhere, I'll go by myself—"

"Jimmy, don't be an idiot," I said. "You can't leave. There's a bunch of obsessed stalkers that are after me, and to make matters worse, there's like, a crazy Mexican guy in charge of a drug cartel who's really pissed off at us—Uncle T bit both his ears off."

Jimmy grimaced. "So? What does all of that have to do with me? That sounds like you, and Uncle T's problem, not mine."

"It's your problem too, man," Franklin retorted. "Y'all got the green light, dog, thanks to Trevor's ties with your family."

"This is such bullshit," Jimmy complained. "Trevor isn't even biologically related to us, and Tracey is the one with the desperate asshole stalkers, not me. Why am I getting punished because she's an internet slut?"

"Jimmy, you are such a dickweed!" I shouted, my hands balled into fists. "Do you even care that I almost died yesterday?"

"Of course I care, but dying and almost dying are two different things," Jimmy argued. "Your brush with death couldn't have been that bad, you look just fine. It's not fair that I have to suffer because of your stupid near-death experience. You ruined everything!"

Jimmy turned, and stormed out of the living room, leaving in a huff.

"Asshole!" I snapped.

"Bitch!" He retorted, skipping up the polished wood stairs.

"You homo!" I cried at the top of my lungs. Despite the cool circulation within the room, my blood was boiling. "Mom! Jimmy called me a bitch! Mom—"

" _Trace_ ," Franklin blurted out. "Will you stop fuckin' screamin'?"

"Franklin, he called me a bitch," I whined. "You're supposed to be on my side about this."

"I am on your side, girl, but you finna pop my motherfuckin' eardrums out—"

Mom forged into the living room with Fabian at her heels.

"Amanda, I beg of you, one more session," Fabian pleaded.

Mom about-faced, her fists clenched. She breathed in deep before responding, trying to quell her anger. "Fabian, get out of my house—" He latched onto her wrist. Mom gasped, swatting his hand away. "How dare you?"

"Ay man," Franklin sprang to his feet, and pushed his way between Fabian and Mom. "You heard the lady, bounce fool. Don't nobody want yo' tights wearin' ass here, thirsty motherfucker—"

"I'm not going anywhere, homie," Fabian mocked, glaring into Franklin's eyes. "Is this what has become of you, Amanda? Living in the middle of worthless wasteland, allowing filthy, hired thugs into your home?"

Franklin took a menacing step closer to him. "The fuck you just say?"

"Franklin, honey," Mom said, her tone soft and casual. "Can you please remove this narcissistic, piece of prima donna trash from our home? He's ruining our positive energy."

Without delay, Franklin's large mitts grappled onto Fabian's neck. He gasped, crumbling under Franklin's strength, his hands raised high in surrender. I grinned, clapping my hands together. Under normal circumstances, I wasn't an advocate for violence. I hated to witness people get bullied and manhandled, but Fabian was an exception, he was such a creep.

Franklin forcibly dragged him out of the living room, and through the hall. Mom and I followed behind them, both of us rooting Franklin on the entire way.

"That's right, get 'em out of here!" I cheered as Franklin threw Fabian out the door. It was a rough fall, his willowy body collided with the stone porch steps, and landed in the dirt.

Fabian groaned, and spit out a mouthful of blood and sand. "Y-you'll pay for this, you hoodlum…"

Mom took Franklin's side. "Come back here again, and I'll have this fine gentleman, who is not a hired thug mind you, permanently remove you from existence," Mom threatened. "Do you understand me? Come anywhere close to me, or my children again, and I'll have you killed. You will be dead."

"You'll be deader than dead!" I added. "You'll be the deadest person ever!"

"Come on, honey," she tapped Franklin's shoulder, and we about-faced, returning to the house, leaving Fabian lying in the dirt.

Chop sped through the entrance behind us. "Jesus, what a day…" Mom turned the locks on the door. "Do you think he'll okay? Did we overdo it?"

"Nah, he'll be a'ight," Franklin replied. "I think he got the message."

"I hope so. I'm so glad Michael isn't here, you know how angry he gets, he would have done much worse. Once he gets those crazy eyes, there's no stopping him." Mom sighed. "For all our sake, let's keep this whole messy situation with Fabian on the downlow, okay? Anyway, are you guys hungry?"

"Yeah, Mom," I nodded. "I'm starved."

"I was thinking beef and broccoli stir-fry, it's Tracey's favorite." She glanced at Franklin. "Does that sound good?"

"Fo' sho', sounds good to me," Franklin replied.

"Great, I'll get right to it then. How are you two planning on keeping yourselves entertained in the meantime? The internet is pretty shoddy, and there's no cable for god's sake. Can you believe it?"

"I'ma just chill on the couch and wait," Franklin formed a weak smile. "It's all good."

"Yeah, don't worry about us, Mom," I added.

Mom flashed us a smile, and turned away, making a left into the kitchen. I accompanied Franklin back into the living room, and squeezed next to him on the couch. Chop laid at our feet, panting heavily, his black fur speckled with sand.

"Gotta find little homie somethin' to snack on soon," Franklin muttered to himself. He pulled off his hat, revealing his dark hair. It had been cut short and styled into a clean fade, with a three-line pattern visible on the side, giving his haircut a unique, distinct look.

Eyelids heavy, he sagged into the leathery cushions, the veins in his forehead throbbed with frustration. Hoping to make him feel better, I reached up, my fingertips brushed through his short strands. The soft, curly texture of his hair was fun to play with. I pressed my lips to the smooth, neatly shaved side of his head. "I like your hair," I whispered.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice soft and subdued.

I wanted to pry him for information regarding the thing Jimmy mentioned about him stealing his car, but now wasn't a good time. He seemed stressed, and irritable enough already. "Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"You're lying, I can tell when you're mad. Tell me what's wrong." I poked his hard stomach with my index finger.

"Ay," he swatted my hand lightly. "Stop."

"Can't help it, I poke and prod people when I'm worried." I poked him yet again.

"Knock that shit off, girl."

"I will if you tell me what's wrong."

"Ain't nothin' wrong."

"Bullcrap. You know you can tell me anything, right Frank?"

He didn't respond. I reached out to poke him a third time, but he captured my hand. "If I tell you, you gotta keep them little ass hands to yourself, a'ight?"

"You have any idea how hard it is to keep my hands off you?" I teased. "But I'll try my best, no promises."

"A'ight." He scratched his stubbled cheek. "Sometimes that shit gets to me, girl, when motherfuckers stereotype my ass as a thug, or a gangbanger off first glance. Not that they're wrong, but that ain't the point. I could be a normal ass, law-abiding citizen for all they know, you feel me? But if you're dark, and your pants hang a little low, that's it—you ain't nothin' more than a fuckin' degenerate."

I frowned. "Not everyone thinks that way. Sure, Fabian and some other asswipes might think so, but those people are ignorant. You can't let stupidity like that rain on your parade."

"It's hard to tune that shit out when you gotta deal with it every fuckin' day. Usually, I don't even bother wastin' the energy moanin' 'bout that discrimination bullshit, it's like beatin' a dead horse. But I do get angry 'bout that shit, and I take it out on everybody else around me, even though it ain't fair to them." His pained, deep brown gaze settled on me. "Even though it ain't fair to you."

My stomach hardened. Although his heartfelt confession was difficult to hear, I was glad he let down his walls, and allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable in front of me. I embraced him, my arms tangled around his neck. It was risky to do so with my family nearby, but I didn't care. He needed a hug, and I was determined to supply it.

"You're not a degenerate," I rubbed his strong back. "At least, you aren't to me."

Franklin smiled, his powerful arms drew me close.

The comforting hug was short and fleeting, and I immediately missed Franklin's warmth the moment he pulled away. Despite the sentimental moment we shared, he still seemed a little down in the dumps, despite his efforts to hide it, lips pressed into a fine line, and large body angled away from me.

With no reason other than my motivation to console him, I slipped my hand underneath his white shirt and tickled his hard, sculpted tummy. My impulsiveness was rewarded with a tight grin gracing his handsome face, and lots of squirming.

"Quit playin'," he choked out between a laugh, and shuffled out of my reach, scooting to the other end of the sofa.

"I didn't know you were so ticklish," I climbed on top of the cushions, and slowly crawled toward him on all fours, chuckling.

"Aw shit," he snorted. "You gone and found out my weakness."

"Yep, and I'm so gonna tickle you to death now."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, baby. I'm warnin' you, my reflexes are unpredictable, I might knock yo' little ass out by mistake—"

I lunged at Franklin, assaulting his powerful body with a barrage of tickles. His muscles tensed, and a big, goofy laugh escaped him. It was so adorable and contagious that I started cracking up too, a bubbly sensation filled my heart. He didn't make the tickle assault easy for me however, his grip settled around my wrists to keep me at bay.

His grasp was far too gentle to constrain me, however. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I picked up the pace, my frenzy of tickles gravitated to his sides. Cackling, and flustered, his arm locked around me, and he stood, lifting me into the air, and threw my upper body over his shoulder with little effort.

"Mhmm, I got yo' little narrow ass now," he playfully smacked my behind.

"Oww," I whimpered, still grinning. It kinda hurt, but in a good way. Jeez, I was too kinky for my own good. "Get off! This is like the textbook definition of domestic violence."

"Uh-huh, you ain't gotta lie, girl. I know you like this shit." **_Pow!_** He slapped my ass again, much harder this time around.

"Franklin!" I squealed and shuddered, kicking my legs and waving my arms through the air helplessly. My butt was practically on fire. I was trapped in his grasp, weak and vulnerable like an insect snared in a spider's web. No matter how much I struggled, I couldn't free myself. I loved his strength, and hated it at the same time. "I'm totally gonna file a restraining order against you, spanking is a criminal offense, you know. I'm a privileged white girl, you can't manhandle me like this. Unlike you, I have the authorities on my side."

"Fuck the police, I ain't scared."

His hand hovered over my behind once again. I squeezed my eyes closed, and winced, preparing for the slap.

Butt cheeks clenched, I waited, and counted five long, tedious seconds to feel the pain, but nothing happened. Curious, I opened my eyes, and spotted Mom standing in the doorway, gaping at us incredulously.

I swallowed deeply, my cheeks burned. No words could describe how embarrassing it was to be caught hanging helplessly over Franklin's broad shoulders, in the process of being spanked like cheap whore with a submission fetish. Although it was a blast, we really got carried away…

"H-hey Mom," I mumbled as Franklin set me down to my feet. "It's uh, not what it looks like…"

"D-dinner's ready," Mom stammered, and took off in a hurry.

Franklin and I exchanged wary glances at one another. A moment later, suddenly, and simultaneously, we broke out into laughter once again. I wasn't even sure why I was giggling, because in truth, I was crying on the inside. We were royally screwed if Mom told Daddy anything, but at least we'd suffer together, and that made reality slightly easier to cope with.

Franklin, Chop and I ate dinner together on the couch. Mom's beef and broccoli stir-fry was bombtastic as always. By the time we finished chowing down, the shadows of the night had fallen over the desert, sparing the land of the scorching heat. Franklin volunteered to wash the dishes, and promised to fetch my bags from the car afterwards, bless his selfless heart.

While Frank was busy with chores, Chop and I set off to explore the house.

We ascended the stairs, and found ourselves within a short, dimly lit hallway. There were three hardwood doors, one on the right, and two on the left. The door on the right had a sticky note attached to it. 'GO AWAY' was etched across it in black ink, the penmanship so crooked and wobbly, it couldn't had been written by anyone else other than Jimmy.

"Looks like this room is already taken, Chop," I muttered.

Chop scampered to the nearest door on the left, and clawed the wood, requesting access. I twisted the gold knob, and eased it open. It was a small room, silent and dusty, a huge change of scenery compared to the homey, vibrant colored living room. The space was mostly empty, except for the wooden nightstand, and the full-sized bed hugging the bare, white walls. Despite the lack of personality, or distinct features, I had no choice but to settle there for the night. Jimmy had already claimed his room, and the other probably belonged to Mom.

Chop hopped onto the mattress, and plopped down at the foot of the bed. I flicked the light switch on the wall, and the bare bulb on the ceiling came to life, and brightened the space. The bedroom reeked of dust, and a strange thickness. The dust caked floorboards creaking with every step, I strolled to the window. I brushed some cobwebs off the glass, and tugged it open. A cool breeze seeped into the room, it was so much easier to breathe now that there was fresh air circulating through the space.

I collapsed onto the springy bed, and combed my fingers through Chop's shiny coat, occasionally plucking away small grains of sand from his fur. I absentmindedly pet the creature for a long while, drifting in and out of sleep due to the silence. There was nothing else to do anyhow, I didn't have a phone, no television, no nothing…

The roar of a car engine from outside my window roused me from my slumber.

"Motherfucker!" Franklin's booming shout echoed through the air, disrupting the desert's wildlife, birds squawked and cawed, coyotes howled in the distance.

I shuddered, and jerked to my feet. Chop's floppy ears rose, high and alert, and he darted off the bed and sped out the room. My stomach churned. Something was wrong, I could feel it. I sprinted after Chop, quickly descending the stairs. I followed him through the wide open front door and into the night. He guided me to his master's location, right outside the house on the side of the shadowy dirt road.

Nostrils flaring, Franklin turned, and silently brushed past me, storming toward the house.

"F-Franklin?" I jogged to his side and clutched his arm. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Jimmy happened." He glared at me, his eyes intense and protruding. "That whiny, bitch ass motherfucker stole my fuckin' car."

I glanced behind me at the dirt road. There was no car in sight, I didn't even realize it was gone. "Holy crap…"

Franklin whipped out his green smartphone, his twitchy fingers scrolled through his contacts. "Fat motherfucker must think this shit is funny," Franklin grumbled to himself. "Leavin' our asses stranded in the middle of fuckin' nowhere. Shit, Madrazo's goons probably creepin' on his punk ass as we speak." He tapped on the name 'Lamar', and pressed his phone to his ear. A moment later, the call was answered by a deep voice, but it was too muffled for me to make out the words. "Ay homie, I need you to pull up to Paleto Bay, it's an emergency, dog—"

"Tracey!" Mom raced to me, her slender face red and flustered. Her trembling hands cupped my cheek. "Are you okay, honey? What's going on?"

"I'm fine," I feigned a smile. "Are you okay? You don't look so good, Mom."

"James is gone, he sent me an email saying he took Franklin's car, and that he was sorry—"

Franklin lowered his phone slightly. "Yo, you know where he went?"

"Vanilla Unicorn," Mom answered. "That filthy gentleman's club in south LS, full of strippers and prostitutes with their fake tits, and their used goods." She gazed at me, tears swelling in her eyes. "Your whore-mongering father used to love that place. And now my baby boy is there. Oh god, what if one of those whores give him a STD? James isn't smart enough to use protection, he isn't even old enough to drink yet…"

"Strippers should be the least of your worries, Mom," I said. "Remember the reason we're out here in the first place? We're being hunted by stalkers and Mexican drug dealers. Jimmy is in danger."

"What does the Mexicans, or stalkers matter if he dies of a sexually transmitted disease, Tracey?"

Franklin slipped his green smartphone back into his pocket. "My boy is on his way here, he finna give me a lift to the skin joint so I can get Jimmy back, a'ight?"

"Please, tell him to hurry, Franklin," Mom begged. "If Michael finds out about this, he'll have a heart attack. He's driving me nuts about this drug cartel nonsense. All of it sounds like a load of bullshit to me."

"I'm coming too," I said.

"Tracey, no, you can't go," Mom demanded. "I don't want you getting in Franklin's way, and if your father's crazy talk about the drug cartel is true, it'll be too dangerous."

"I know me and Jimmy rarely ever get along, and yes, I do think he's a pathetic idiot, but he's still my brother," I argued. "I have to help Franklin get him back."

"It's cool, I don't mind Trace rollin' with me," Franklin said. "I'll protect her."

"You better." She narrowed her eyes, and pointed a finger at both of us. "When you two get back, hopefully safe and sound with James, we need to have a talk—a long one. Namaste."

Mom turned away, and forged back to the house, slamming the door behind her.

"The fuck was that all about?" Franklin asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "If I were to take an educated guess, it probably has something to do with earlier today, before dinner, when she, y'know…"

"What? When she caught us play fightin'?"

"I'm like, one-hundred percent sure spanking and play fighting are two totally different things. I guarantee your hand print is still visible on my ass cheek as we speak, it's probably never going to go away."

"Nah, play fightin' and spankin' go hand in hand. It's just a slap that happened to land on your booty instead of somewhere else."

"The difference between the two is, play fighting is supposed to be gentle, no one gets hurt. Getting spanked is painful, and I can't help but question if you're just fooling around, or actually trying to kill me."

"You'll know I ain't playin' no more when I tear the meat off yo' ass, girl," he grumbled. "All that damn poking and tickling, you know I wasn't in the mood for that soft, high school romance ass bullshit."

If he didn't have such nice, soft lips, I probably would had slapped his rude, insensitive mouth right then and there. He had no appreciation for how much pain and effort it took to make him smile. I deserved a thank you.

"You're such a fucking fuck sometimes," I muttered.

"Girl, don't be like that." He reached out to me, but I quickly shoved him away. "Damn, you need to chill the fuck out, and learn how to take a joke. And you say I'm the grumpy one."

"You are the grumpy one! You're like the ultimate killjoy, and it's super hard to tell when you're joking or not. Seriously, are you ever in the mood for anything besides brooding, Franklin? Or arguing, or hurting people, and making terrible, vulgar jokes?"

"Maybe if everythin' wasn't so fucked up, I'd be in a better mood," he snapped. "I'm stranded in the desert, my car's gone, I'm stuck babysittin' grown ass adults that act like goddamn kids. I ain't particularly enjoyin' my fuckin' self, this ain't no paradise resort. There's plenty of other shit I rather be doin' right now—"

"Yeah, like what, huh?" I shouted over him, my voice echoed through the desert air. "You rather lay around in your big, empty house, feeling miserable and alone instead? It's so sad and pathetic the way you push people away and cry about it afterwards, it's almost like you don't know any better."

Franklin stalked close to me, his glare hard and flinty. "You think you know me so fuckin' well, but you don't know shit."

"It's your fault if I don't," I retorted. "Because you won't give me a chance to get to know you. Stop making things so friggin' difficult. You need to get in touch with your sensitive side, Frank. Listen to your heart for once. Let people in, you won't regret it—"

"Yeah, a'ight," he shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. "Bein' sensitive, listenin' to your heart and all that soft, naive ass shit—it doesn't end well, I know from experience. It's a quick way to get fucked." He sighed, lowering his head. "I don't know why the fuck we're wastin' our time, we ain't gon' work out anyway. If you really got to know me, you'd realize I ain't exactly boyfriend material, unless you got a thing for gangbanging motherfuckers who don't got shit to lose."

I swallowed deeply, my chest ached. The hulking man was intimidating, but I wasn't afraid of him. His anger, intimidation tactics and jeers were just a defense mechanism to keep others from getting close, but I wasn't giving up on him, not yet.

"Everyone that I love does terrible things," I said. "My dad, and Uncle T are probably the biggest criminals in Los Santos, and my mom and brother are literal kleptomaniacs, but I was conditioned to turn a blind eye to it, conditioned to sympathize and understand it, and maybe that makes me crazy just like them but…" I cupped his rugged cheeks, and stared into his smoldering eyes. "I want to know you so bad, Franklin," I pleaded softly. "Maybe I am silly and naïve, but that doesn't mean I don't deserve a chance. Why won't you let me? Why won't you let me in? I promise you won't scare me away. I'm stronger than I look."

Franklin grew silent, brows furrowed, his gaze softening. Although his beautiful brown eyes glanced my way, he seemed to be staring straight through me, lost in thought. He was a hard man to read. What was he thinking?

"Say something," I said, my voice cracked, choked with emotion.

He took a step back, a snort of dismissive laughter escaped him. "Look Trace, I'm a nigga who boosts cars, and occasionally, I pop motherfuckers, that's who the fuck I am, and I'm real good at that shit. I'm a walkin' red flag—a disaster barely bein' held together by flesh and motherfuckin' bone. Everybody else with half a fuckin' brain can see that shit, why the fuck can't you?" He scrubbed his unsteady hand over his face. "I don't want to hurt you, a'ight? I'm depressed enough as it is, I got enough guilt eatin' away at me already."

Tears sting my eyes and I sniffle, wiping my runny nose with my forearm. "If you don't want to hurt me, then why are you doing it right now? Why are you making me feel so unwanted?"

"Trace, baby…" He grimaced, his voice softened, losing its power. "Don't cry, I ain't mean to—"

"Screw you," I snapped, turning my back to him. "I know what you're doing, I'm not as dumb as you think I am. You're trying to make this about me, but it's all a front."

"Tracey—"

"Shut up already!" Heat flushed through me. "You're a coward, Franklin—a selfish, insecure asshole who's scared shitless of real intimacy. You push everyone away because you're the one who's scared of getting hurt. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're a fucking fuck, just like everyone else..."

I took in a deep breath, and exhaled slow, trying to control my tearful tone, and relax my quaking limbs. "I feel so bad for you," I mumbled. "I don't know why you're so cold, and cruel. It's hard to make sense of it. Maybe some horrible person you loved took you for granted and treated you like crap, maybe they made you feel like you weren't good enough and deserted you. And now you think that love and intimacy is some terrible thing that only leads to hurt in the end. But it's not fair when you take it out on the people around you. I just want to help you—to make you realize that intimacy isn't as bad as you think it is. You deserve that much, even though you can't see it…"

Franklin gravitated close, his bulky arms locked around my waist from behind. I wanted to stick to my guns and stay pissed at him, I wanted to push him away, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I adored his warmth far too much. My heart skipped a beat, his strong embrace warded my petite body from the night's chilly temperature. His face nuzzled against mine, the sweet gesture, and the ticklish stubble on his cheek forced a giggle out of me as always.

His warm breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. With a soft brush of his full lips, he kissed my skin, his touch so featherlike I could barely feel it. I could had sworn he used every ounce of his strength just to be tender. Maybe his attentive, delicate caresses was his way of apologizing for being so cold, he was much better at showing his affection through physicality, rather than spoken words anyhow.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I know I ain't right for you, but that don't mean I don't want you. You look at the world through rose-colored glasses, and I love that 'bout you, girl. You're so good, and innocent. I wish someone like you came around sooner, maybe I'd be more open to this kind of shit. Maybe I wouldn't be so fucked up."

"You're too hard on yourself," I replied. "Sure, you're far from perfect, but I like this side of you. It makes all your flaws worthwhile. So, will you please just stop pushing me away? I know you don't want to be alone, no one does."

"Damn, you stubborn as shit, you know that?" He sighed. "I should be alone, I'm used to it, you feel me? But do I like it? Nah, I chill by myself, away from motherfuckers, 'cause there's less stress that way. Everythin' you do in life is easier when the only person around for you to let down is yourself."

I frowned. "That's so…"

"Fuckin' pathetic, right?" He grinned. "My bad, I was thinkin' out loud, or maybe I've been thinkin' too much, not sure."

"Whatever you're doing, you need to stop. Think happy thoughts, try visualizing stuff in your head that makes you feel good. Like um, guns and dirty money, dead cops, stolen cars, drugs and prostitutes…"

Franklin narrowed his eyes. "For real? That's some real ignorant, stereotypical bullshit right there, yo' shallow ass should be ashamed."

"Because you're such a beacon of morality, right?"

"Blame poverty, I'm a product of my environment. I act in accordance with nature, girl. But you ain't gotta rub it in."

"You're so sensitive," I teased, giggling.

He smirked. "Fuck you."

Quietly, Franklin held me close to his powerful body for quite some time. I didn't mind it, I enjoyed the comfortable silence.

The bright headlights of an incoming car illuminated the dark dirt path. I winced, it was practically blinding. Franklin pulled away, and peered out at the road. "That's my boy, Lamar."

I nodded weakly, and sniffed. I didn't realize how emotionally drained I was after the heated argument we had, but I had to be strong for Jimmy.

A white cargo van came to a hasty stop before us. A black dude stepped out, his green, baggy shirt and tan, sagging cargos blew loosely in the strong, desert wind.

"What's good, nigga?" The man's tall, lanky body gravitated to Franklin. The guy was literally covered in tattoos from the neck down. Although it all looked like chicken scratch to me, I had a hunch it was gang affiliated. "Gimme dap dog, it's been a minute."

"What's crackin', my nig'?" Franklin greeted his friend with a fist bump and handshake, and then the two men pulled one another into a loose hug. Once the short-lived embrace was over, Franklin turned away, opening truck's wide backdoors. Chop wasted little time hopping inside. "Trace," Franklin beckoned me over. "If you comin', you gon' have to get in the back. Might be a bumpy ride though."

I stared into the empty, spacious van. "Um…" I fumbled. There wasn't much to hang onto if things got bumpy…

"You don't have to come. Lamar and I can handle it—"

"No, it's fine." I swallowed deeply, and climbed inside with Chop. There was a strong, musty odor in here, a mixture of stinky arm-pits and smoke.

Franklin shut the double doors behind me, and appeared a moment later at the wheel, with his friend sitting beside him. I stood and held onto the back of Franklin's beige leather seat for support. From this angle, I could easily gaze over his broad shoulder and through the windshield into the night.

We pulled off onto the empty, shadowy dirt road. The desert sand proved to be even more bumpy than I originally thought, but it was easy to keep my balance so long as my grip remained tight on Franklin's seat. Poor Chop on the other hand, rocked back and forth with every shake and thud.

"How the fuck you get here so fast, dog?" Franklin stole a quick glance at his friend. "Not that I ain't glad, but damn, you usually always late."

"I was in Sandy Shores, handlin' some business when yo' boujiee, Vinewood ass hit me up," Lamar said. "I was surprised as a motherfucker too, 'cause you don't be callin', or textin', well unless you need somethin'. You ain't been reppin' the set either, out here thinkin' you special." He turned around, and gazed at me, brows furrowed. "Ay, who the white girl?"

"I'm Tracey," I murmured. There was something about him that made me nervous, but I did my best to choke it down.

"She's Michael's daughter man," Franklin added.

"Oh, you that old white dude's daughter huh?" Lamar asked. "The irritable dude that be creepin' on fools, right? That's cool. Sup girl, I'm Lamar, but fine ladies like yourself call me LD—that stands for lanky dick, case you were wonderin'."

"More like lanky dumb ass," Franklin muttered.

Lamar shook his head. "Whatever nigga, that joke gettin' old. And I peep you still be hanging out with them old dudes. Ain't got no time for your day one niggas no more, huh? Ay, why yo' fat ass always hoggin' the wheel? What if I wanna drive the whip, nigga?"

"You talk too damn much to be drivin', fool."

"Excuse me, Frank totally isn't fat," I caressed his broad chest. "This is all muscle."

Franklin smiled. "Chill babe, I'm tryna drive."

Lamar's hazel eyes widened. "Nuh-uh, my boy Franklin fuckin' a white girl? Awh hell nah, nigga, I didn't know you rolled like that."

"Nigga, that ain't a surprise. You don't be knowin' much," Franklin retorted.

"Shoulda known you was fuckin' with white girls now, boujiee Vinewood ass. Once a nigga get a couple dollars in his pocket, he think he too good for hood bitches. I see you nigga, snake ass bitch. Turned your back on the homies, the sistas—"

"Man, you a sensitive little ol' bitch, ain't you? If you wanted to chill so fuckin' bad, why don't yo' clingy ass ever pull up to the crib?"

"Niggas like me can't pull up to no Vinewood, I be scaring them prestigious motherfuckers, they know a real ass nigga when they see one. I'm like a wild cat nigga, I'm always on the prowl homie, anybody can get it, y'know what I'm talkin' 'bout? Ay, how much dick you had to suck to set up shop over there anyway? I know they ain't let your big, scary, toaster strudel looking ass in the legit way, down payments and all that shit. Wait until I tell your aunt you've been swallowing old, saggy white dude balls just to pay the rent, she gonna have a good laugh, you yes-master ass nigga."

"Yeah a'ight, why don't you take a lesson from my book and step your shit up, instead of whinin' day in and day out like a fuckin' female? Credit fraud and slingin' dope clearly ain't workin' out too well for you, but you too much of a dog ass nigga to change shit up. Learn some new tricks, you fuckin' moron."

I swallowed deeply. To be friends, they sure were mean to one another.

We made a turn off the bumpy dirt path, and onto the smooth, empty main street of Paleto Bay. It was only a matter of time before we reached the freeway. With little traffic to compete with, we'd make it back to the city in no time.

"Uh-huh, I see you," Lamar glared at Franklin, and shook his head. "This is how you treat your boy after ghostin' him for weeks. You ain't shit nigga, I shouldn't have wasted the gas comin' out here for your ass."

Franklin grinned. "Man, chill. You know I ain't got nothin' but love for yo' silly ass, dog."

"You so full of shit, it's leakin' through your nose and teeth, nigga. The only fools you got love for is them old white dudes, and maybe that little white bitch in the back." Lamar glanced at me. "Yo, word of warning, baby girl, this nigga Franklin a snake, he be changin' up on the daily, you can't trust his ass. You know he used to work for the feds?"

"Ignore this clown, girl," Franklin said. "He get real petty when he jealous, sensitive motherfucker."

"I dunno, Lamar kinda has a point," I replied. "You do go from happy to cranky in like a matter of seconds. If that's not the definition of changing up, then I don't know what is."

"See, white girl knows what's up. You a crabby, snake ass motherfucker, Frank." Lamar took my hand, and leaned in close, his hot breath on my shoulder. "Yo, I know this nigga be wildin' sometimes," he whispered. "It's gotta be a scary thing, fuckin' with this big, cranky motherfucker, 'cause you like a delicate flower, y'know what I'm talkin' about? Like a daffodil, them pretty yellow ones. He ain't hurt you, did he, baby?"

"N-no," I fumbled, my chest caving in. Lamar had a natural silly, playful demeanor about him, but still, I wasn't one-hundred percent sure if he was joking or not. Stranger danger! I wanted to run for the hills, but there was nowhere to go…

"You need a man who's gonna be soft and gentle with them delicate pedals of yours," Lamar continued. "'Cause you know, this nigga Frank, he ain't the one. He'd probably beat a bitch over a french fry, you see how big he is, you can tell this no neck motherfucker love food—"

"Nigga," Franklin glared at Lamar, his hands clutched the steering wheel tightly, nails digging into the leather fabric. "The only bitch up in here I'm 'bout to beat is you, fool. Get yo' crusty ass hands off her, man. Fall back, creep motherfucker."

"Alright nigga, chill, damn," Lamar released me. "That's real childish, dog—threatenin' your homies like that. I was makin' sure the white girl was alright, you coulda kidnapped her ass for all I know. It is kinda suspicious, y'all being this far out in the desert, ain't got no whip or nothing. But don't trip, I'm just a concerned citizen, dog."

I sighed heavily, and huddled closer to Franklin, clenching his shoulders. He glanced at me through the windshield mirror, his gaze soft, and laced with concern. I formed a weak smile, hoping the gesture alone would be enough to communicate I was okay. He lifted a hand from the wheel, and opened his palm to me. I happily took his hand, I missed his touch, our fingers intertwined.

"So what y'all doing out here in the first place with Chop?" Lamar asked.

"Michael and Trevor gone and fucked with Madrazo again, now they got a green light on their ass," Franklin explained. "Michael thinks they're after his family too, so he made 'em come out here to lay low, dog, asked me to watch after 'em until shit blows over."

"Damn homie, them old dudes always got some drama goin' on, especially the crazy dude, but he pretty cool, we straight. Real recognize real, you feel me? If y'all tryin' to lay low, why we driving back to LS then?"

"Because my idiot baby brother stole Franklin's car to go throw one-dollar bills on strippers," I answered.

"For real?" Lamar smirked. "I guess he don't give a fuck about Madrazo, he gonna get his dick wet tonight whether it's the last thing he do. I respect that, little homie a soldier for the pussy. Alright so, what the nigga look like? Vanilla Unicorn be lit this time of night, I'ma need an accurate description to help y'all find him."

"Just look for a wankster," I said. "Lots of tattoos, red hair, big gold chain, fat—and I don't mean Franklin's type of fat, I mean like, bordering on morbidly obese. And if push comes to shove, just follow the stench of stale Cheetos, failure, and broken dreams. That'll lead us straight to him."

Lamar snickered. "Damn, white girl cold. I like her."

* * *

We swerved into the Vanilla Unicorn parking lot. Lamar was right, it was a busy night at the club, there was long line of people waiting outside the establishment to be let in by the muscled bouncer, while others lingered on the sidewalk in groups, either drunk or smoking cigarettes, chatting loudly over the booming music coming from inside. The vicinity stunk of beer and vomit.

"Stay in the car with Chop, girl," Franklin demanded. "Keep a look-out, a'ight? We'll be right back."

I nodded. "Be careful guys."

Franklin and Lamar exited the vehicle, leaving the motor running. Chop and I climbed into the front seat and gaped out the window. Instead of waiting in line, the two men skipped to the front, and exchanged a few words with the bouncer. Apparently, they had pull around here, the bouncer stepped aside without much of a fuss, and they disappeared into the popular club.

"See anything suspicious, Chop?" I asked, my eyes swept over the area. There were a couple of rowdy drunk people limping around, one intoxicated guy wouldn't stop tripping over his own shoestrings, which was kinda funny, but besides that, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was no sign of Jimmy anywhere. Crap, that dweeb better be alright…

Five long, miserable minutes had past, and the boys still hadn't returned. My leg wouldn't stop bouncing. My body tensed, a bizarre sensation overwhelmed me, my womanly intuition reared its ugly head, stomach churning with dread. What the heck was taking so long? Franklin, where are you?

Chop licked my face, his big, slimy tongue moistened my cheek. He made for a good distraction from my worrisome thoughts. I hugged him close.

 ** _Bang! Bang! Bang!_**

The earsplitting stutter of rapid gunfire echoed through the city's night air. I yelped, my pulse roared in my ears. The herd of people surrounding the area scattered like flies, while dozen's more poured from the club's narrow entrance in masses, dashing into the street, fleeing for cover and screaming at the top of their lungs.

A large white truck pulled up from the busy road and steered to the curb, right outside the club's entrance. At the honk of the driver's horn, two tanned, skinny men with pony-tails peeled off from the fleeing horde emptying the club. Guns in their hands, they dragged Jimmy's pudgy frame across the pavement, yanking him toward the truck.

"Jimmy!" I cried. A weight pressed against my chest, robbing me of breath. He struggled to break free from their grasp, kicking and punching, but to no avail. They opened the truck doors and tossed him into the back, closing him in. It all happened so fast. Chop barked viciously at them, sharp teeth bared, globs of spit oozed down his lips as he savagely snarled.

The van's doors flung open just as the truck began to pull off, and Franklin and Lamar appeared. I latched onto Chop's collar, and scrambled to the back of the van, clearing the way for the men to reclaim their seats.

"Step on it, nigga!" Lamar demanded, he pulled up his baggy shirt, revealing an Uzi strapped to the waistband of his cargos.

Franklin flattened the gas pedal. Smoke pouring from the van's tires, we surged out of the parking lot and into traffic, speeding after the truck. Zooming over potholes and speed bumps, the van jerked and shook like crazy, knocking me over onto cold, metal floor.

"Franklin!" I wailed, clinging to the leg of his seat. My body ached, my grip on Chop's collar slipped, and the dog flopped and skid about the space helplessly, repeatedly colliding with the walls with a loud **_thump._**

"The fuck is goin' on back there?" Franklin shouted.

"You're going to kill us!" I cried, the disgusting taste of vomit on my tongue. I was gonna hurl any moment now.

"Hang in there, girl, we gainin' on them!"

"I'ma clip these motherfuckers!" Lamar poked his head out the window, pointed his Uzi at the truck, and squeezed the trigger. Bullets sprayed from the barrel, I shuddered with every booming shot, the gunfire was so monstrously loud, I thought I was going to go deaf.

 ** _Crash!_** Soaring projectiles penetrated our vehicle's windshield, zipping through the air and puncturing the solid metal doors behind me. They were shooting back at us!

"Oh fuck!" Franklin cranked the wheel to the left, and we swerved, my back crashed into the steel wall. An excruciating pain gripped my spine, my eyes blurred with tears. Chop's big, muscular body tumbled into me. I fought through the pain, and threw my arms around his furry frame. Like a human shield, I smothered the animal to shield him from the gunfire, taking on the full extent of each collision, as we were thrown and tossed around the bottom of the speeding van like rag-dolls.

I became woozy after some time, Franklin and Lamar were shouting at one another, but I couldn't make out their words. My eyelids grew heavy.

I wasn't sure how many times I had blacked out before the car came to an abrupt stop. It was cold, my arms empty, I didn't feel Chop's presence anymore. Everything was a blur, my limbs were weak and boneless like jello. I blinked the tears from my eyes, struggling to regain my focus. There was barking, lots of it, as well as heavy footsteps shuffling through dirt.

A bruising grasp tightened around my bare ankle, and yanked me from the van. I cried out, my screams split the night air as I was tossed onto the cold, sandy ground. Heart beating at a dizzying pace, my sight began to sharpen, and the shadowy desert came forth, spiked cactuses and tumbleweed surrounded me, no road in sight. I cursed my shit luck, not this place again…

A strange man entered my field of vision, hovering over me. His beady eyes stared down at me, his ugly, tattooed face twisted into a menacing smirk. I trembled violently, breathless and frozen, the reality of the dire situation sunk in like a boulder, the heavy weight of despair pressed on my chest. I couldn't bring myself to move no matter how hard I tried. I wasn't ready to die, I had so much more to live for…

The man opened his palm, revealing a pocket knife. With a flick of his wrist, he freed the sharp blade from the handle. My paralyzing terror seemed to amuse him, his creepy grin grew more and more obnoxious as he casually flipped the knife into the air and captured it tauntingly.

Franklin suddenly appeared behind the strange man, wielding a crowbar high in his grasp. "Surprise, motherfucker."

In an instant, the metal, guided by Franklin's hand, collided with the back of the man's head. **_Crack!_** The strange man's skull shattered from the impact, blood and gooey brain matter splattered onto the sand, the mighty blow sent him face first to the ground. My stomach churned at the sight of his bloody insides. Gross…

"Goddamn!" Lamar's voice echoed in the distance. "You clocked the shit out of that generic goon ass motherfucker, that nigga dead, dog—lights out boy, that fool ain't never comin' back."

"Shut yo' hype man ass up, and go get Jimmy," Franklin demanded.

The big storage truck we chased through the city was visible a short distance away from Franklin and I, the motor still running. The giant wheels were deflated with bullet holes. Lamar stood at the rear of the vehicle, alongside Chop. There were a few motionless bodies lying on the ground nearby, the broken corpses half buried in the sand, their deathly pale skin riddled with lead.

I burped, my stomach grew queasy. After all the Merryweather soldiers my dad killed to protect us, I figured I'd be used to the sight of dead bodies by now…

Lamar yanked opened the truck's heavy-duty doors, and Jimmy wobbled out, dropping onto the ground.

"I'm alive!" Jimmy cried, panting heavily, his face as red as a tomato. My heart swelled with relief at the sight of him. Although startled, his blue eyes bloodshot and his double chin drenched with sweat, he survived the terrifying ordeal without a scratch.

Franklin tossed the bloody crowbar aside, and knelt before me. There was a small cut on his right cheekbone, a tiny trail of blood ran down his face from the wound. I reached out to him, my trembling fingers clung to his shirt, his rich, beautiful brown skin glistened with sweat, and glimmered under the ominous moonlight, and countless stars above. "Can you walk?" He asked softly, his calloused fingertips smoothed over my wet cheeks.

I couldn't muster the strength to speak, tears choked my sore throat. Despite my attempts to maintain my composure, my willpower faltered, and I broke out into hysterical crying, plump tears spilled from my eyes, snot running down my trembling chin like a baby.

Franklin winced. His massive, muscle rippled arms locked around me, and I was swept into the air. Nestled in his strong embrace, he skipped into the rear of the van, pressed his back to the wall, and sunk to the floor, cradling me in his lap, my head propped on his shoulder.

"It's over now, sweetie," Franklin mumbled, his tender words and gentle tone made my heart swell with warmth. "It's all good, I'm with you, baby. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you. I'm so sorry, baby…" His full lips brushed over my sweaty forehead. He planted a slow trail of light pecks down to my flustered cheeks, kissing away my salty tears. I smiled, the sensation of his soft lips caressing my skin soothed me.

I trembled, startled by the thud of the car's front doors opening, and then slamming closed. Lamar took the wheel, with Jimmy sitting beside him. Chop appeared soon after, his furry head nuzzled my arm. He had a limp in his step however, his limbs probably ached just as badly as mine after that agonizingly bumpy, high speed chase we endured.

"Everything all good back there?" Lamar asked. "Y'all ready to bounce?"

"Please, get us the hell out of here, dude," Jimmy exclaimed.

The van's motor purred, and the vehicle strolled forward, thankfully at a steady, smooth pace. Maybe everything was going to be alright after all.

It was a miracle the car was still running at all, considering the exterior was laced with bullet holes. The windshield was cracked, headlights broken, and hood dented.

A tense silence filled the air. Franklin studied me with a thoughtful expression, thick brows furrowed as he stroked his fingers through my hair, caressing my scalp. It took some time, but my sobs eventually ceased. Our gazes locked, the inner glow of amber within his warm brown stare was enchanting—hypnotizing almost. I found myself lost in them, refusing to look away, his eyes were gorgeous, breathtaking even. My stomach fluttered. I couldn't control it, I had lost the reigns over my own emotions. It was a scary thing, falling for someone so quickly.

My limbs were achy, but his delicate caresses worked wonders to ease the pain. How did someone so powerful, and so deadly, manage to have such a tender, therapeutic touch? It was surreal honestly, he could be cruel and cold one moment, and the next, like a flick of a switch, he was loving, and compassionate. I didn't know the direct cause for his sudden sweetness, most likely it was pity, but whatever the reason, I hoped his affectionate mood lasted.

"Thank you," I mouthed noiselessly, my throat far too sore to produce a sound.

Franklin nodded weakly, successfully reading my lips. He pressed his forehead against mine, eyes closed, his sweat, and the fresh, intoxicating scent of his earthy cologne invaded my senses. I inhaled deeply, breathing in his masculine aroma, there was nothing in the world quite like it.

"S-so yeah…" Jimmy broke the silence. "Holy shit, that just happened. Thanks guys, for you know, saving my ass back there. That was dope of you, I thought I was a goner for sure. But nope, the homies came through. You guys are the realest. J-Dog is back in business, bitches!"

"Ain't no big deal, little man," Lamar responded casually. "My van is totaled, me and Franklin almost got clipped by crazy, gun slingin' Mexicans, Chop can barely walk, and white girl was a second away from gettin' shanked to death, but you know, it's cool. Ain't no big deal at all. It's been trill, dog. Yo, Frank, you know where the fuck we at?"

"Just keep drivin'." Franklin's forehead remained glued to mine as he spoke, his warm breath on my lips. "We'll find a road eventually, I hope. Ay, Jimmy, where my whip at, homie? I ain't see it outside the skin joint."

"O-oh, yeah, about that…" Jimmy fumbled, chuckling awkwardly. "So, I was really low on cash, my bank account was literally empty dude, like negative balance empty, because I like to live dangerously every now and then, y'know? I mean, who doesn't right? Anyway, I couldn't get crunk at the titty joint without money, so I uh… I sold your car to a buddy of mine."

The soothing scalp massage I was receiving ended abruptly as Franklin's posture grew rigid and tense, the veins in his powerful arms strained against his flushed skin. He glared at Jimmy, his hard stare so intense and piercing, I feared it was going to burn a hole straight through my brother's back.

Lamar stole a peek at Franklin through the windshield mirror, and winced. "Aw, shit, this motherfucker mad as hell. Man, you better run little homie, before my boy stomps a mudhole in yo' ass."

"What?" Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. "The guy gave me three G's for it in cold, hard cash, I couldn't pass up on a deal like that. Besides, you can always just buy a new one. You live in Vinewood Hills for fuck's sake, you're loaded with dough. What's the big deal, F-Dog?"

"Man, are you fuckin' retarded?" Franklin lashed out, his voice booming. "I should kill yo' bitch ass, I've buried fools for much fuckin' less."

"J-Jesus, F-Dog, I'm sorry!" Jimmy's short, pudgy arms shot into the air defensively. "Calm down, homie. I'm sorry I stole your wheels and sold it, okay? I was pissed Dad said I couldn't leave the safe house, it's his fault I stole it in the first place, if he gave me money, I could buy my own car, and I wouldn't need to steal things from my homies just to get around. It's his fault I don't have any friends!"

"You don't have any friends because you a fuckin' idiot, and you always stink like old gym socks, stank ass motherfucker."

"I knew it!" Jimmy cried, his dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears. "The cat's finally out of the bag, the naked truth exposed—you hate me! You're a douche and an asshole, just like my drunk, lame dad! You murderers have so much in common, all you care about is yourselves, and your stupid material possessions! You don't even care that I almost died!"

"Man, you too damn old to be cryin' like a bitch. Man up, pussy. You have any idea how pathetic that shit make you look?"

"Frank got a point though, won't get no bitches on your dick actin' like that, little nigga," Lamar added.

"Screw you guys!" Jimmy blurted out tearfully, lips quivering, his flared nostrils formed a cluster of watery snot bubbles. "You're just a bunch of low-life delinquents anyway."

"Fuck you," Franklin retorted, unfazed by Jimmy's pitiful, grief-stricken appearance.

"Chill, FC," Lamar said. "Give the little fat, smurf lookin' motherfucker a break, you got enough bread to buy that whip five times over."

"That ain't the fuckin' point, man," Franklin grumbled. "I love that fuckin' car, dog, that shit had sentimental value, motherfucker."

"Yo, c'mon dude, look at the boy man, sobbin' and shit, nose runnin' like a faucet." Lamar shook his head. "This nigga nasty."

"Man, I don't give a shit," Franklin sneered. "Can't believe we almost our asses smoked over this whiny fuck. This shit ain't worth it, dog. The fuck did I sign up for?"

I frowned. Even though Jimmy was a total jackass for selling Franklin's car, it was hard to stand idly by while he bawled his eyes out. Franklin was being too hard on him. I cleared my throat, and cupped Franklin's chin, forcing him to look at me.

"Breathe," I mumbled, tangling my arms around his corded neck. "You're doing this for my dad, remember? Jimmy needs us right now, he almost died, Frank."

"Yo, Frank," Lamar mumbled. "Real talk though—this whole situation type funny to me. After all the cars we jacked in the past, dog, I'm surprised this shit ain't happen sooner. Remember that job Simeon sent you on? The day you got fired, nigga? You boosted Jimmy's whip, and now he did the same shit back to you. Karma's a real bitch, huh?"

"Hypocritical fuck," Jimmy sniffed.

Franklin responded with a heavy, dejected sigh, his shoulders slumped. I kissed the tip of his nose. He feigned a smile at me.

The van's engine made a sudden harsh, coughing noise. With a loud fart, a cloud of black smoke spat into the air from the hood. The vehicle's wheels came to an abrupt halt, all movement had ceased completely.

"H-hey, what's going on, homies?" Jimmy frowned. "Why'd the car stop?"

"The fuck just happened, Lamar?" Franklin asked, brows furrowed.

"Fuck if I know, nigga." Lamar attempted to power on the ignition multiple times. The motor would sputter to life for an only fleeting moment, producing a rough, grating whine. "Goddamn, this shit won't fucking start, homie. We fucked, dog."

My stomach hardened. Just our luck…

"Motherfucker…" Franklin grumbled under his breath. "Me and LD finna check shit out, y'all sit tight." He kissed my cheek, and pulled away, departing the van with Lamar.

I sat up, and peered through the cracked windshield. Franklin and Lamar stood before the open hood of the car, black smoke still rising from within. The trackless, evening desert was a vast, hazy sea of emptiness and lanky cactuses, small shadowy figures skittered along the rolling, dusty hills. There was a stillness in the bitter cold air, the dead silence sent a shiver down my spine. I huddled close to Chop, and hugged my bare legs to my chest. Jeez, it was freezing.

Franklin returned a moment later, stepping through the rear double doors. He withdrew to the darkest corner of the van, his gaze lowered to his feet. "Y'all might as well get comfortable, 'cause we stranded out here. The engine's shot, this bitch ass whip ain't going nowhere."

I swallowed deeply. "W-what do you mean we're stranded? Can't you fix the engine, or something?"

"Nah," he mumbled. "The whip got real fucked up tryna get Jimmy back, had to chase them angry cartel motherfuckers all through Los Santos, into fuckin' hillbilly land, with heat from the Five-O on our tail the entire time—"

"Fuck, I can't get a signal," Jimmy grumbled, holding his phone high in the air. "Jesus, I can't die a fucking virgin. This is bullshit!"

"Ain't nobody here a mechanic," Franklin continued. "I don't know where the fuck we at, ain't got no food, no water…"

"We're so screwed," Jimmy mumbled. "Well, at least I'll freeze to death before Dad gets a chance to lecture me about stealing Franklin's piece of shit car. Silver linings, y'know?"

"Shut up, Jimmy," I grumbled. "If you weren't such a thieving jackass, we wouldn't be in this stupid situation in the first place."

"If you weren't such an attention whore, internet slut, our house wouldn't have been ransacked by your crazy, obsessed stalkers. Finally, your skanky behavior, and Uncle T's cannibalistic tendencies have successfully ruined our lives. I knew it was only a matter of time."

"You're such a dick!" I kicked the back of his leather seat roughly.

"Bitch," Jimmy retorted. He slipped off the heavy gold chain from his neck, and tossed it at me.

"Hey!" I ducked, the bulky chain missed my head by inches. "Asshole!"

"Slut! I'm gonna tell Dad you're sucking Franklin's dick!"

Heat licked my skin, my muscles twitched.

That's it. He's dead meat.

I sprang to my feet, and lunged at him, my nails clawed at his dumb, fat baby face. "This is all your fault!"

He let out a high-pitched shriek, his tattooed arms shielded his face. "Help! Someone get this psycho tramp off me!"

A strong arm locked around my waist from behind, and yanked me back, saving Jimmy from my ruthless assault. My sight clouded with swarms of red, I wriggled and fought, struggling to break free of the tight grasp. I was determined to tear Jimmy a new asshole, he fucking deserved it, the little prick.

A large hand seized my tiny wrists, and with bruising strength, I was thrown against the wall and pinned down by Franklin, the enormous weight of his bulky, muscular body restricted my movement.

"Did you see that F-Dog? She tried to eat my face!" Jimmy pointed his meaty finger at me. "She's gone fucking insane!"

"Turd," I murmured with a sneer.

"When the fuck y'all two finna grow up?" Franklin asked. He clutched my chin roughly, and jerked my face toward him, forcibly breaking my tunnel vision off Jimmy. Our eyes met, my heart pounded so hard against my chest, I thought it was going to burst. "I ain't go through all this shit to save Jimmy just so you can kill his ass. Chill the fuck out, girl."

Franklin had a point. Despite how badly I wanted to gut him like a fish, it'd be a waste after everything we've been through.

"Fine," a sigh crept past my lips.

Franklin released me, and returned to his dark corner. He shivered. Muscles tensed and beautiful brown skin layered with goosebumps, his powerfully built arms crossed over his broad chest.

"You look cold," I pointed out.

"I'm good," he lied, chiseled jaw clenched, trying to suppress the chattering of his teeth.

I inched close to him. His skin was uncomfortably cold to the touch. "Frank, your freezing." I threw my arms around his neck, and clung to him.

He clasped my hips, and squeezed me against him tightly, our thighs snuggling. I stood on the tip of my toes, and kissed his chin. He nuzzled his face against my cheek, the heat of his slow, shallow breathing warmed my skin.

"I'm so gonna tell Dad," Jimmy grumbled, glaring at us.

"You're not gonna tell Dad anything, you shitstick," I grumbled.

"No offense, but Franklin is way out of your lead anyway, Sis. I know he's a bit of a raging psychopath, he kills people and doesn't bat an eye about it, much like our dad, but look at him—he's a walking chick magnet. He's got the whole bad boy persona going on, girls love reckless, dangerous assholes with bad tempers and daddy issues. And he's rich, he can get any girl he wants. Maybe even guys too, if he rolled like that."

"So? What's your point?"

"All I'm saying is, you should really reconsider your options—"

Franklin cleared his throat. "Y'all know I'm standin' right here, right?"

"Tracey, listen to me," Jimmy continued. "I'm telling you this as your brother, out of love, even though you treat me like fucking shit, that my boy F-Dog is only using you for the sex."

"Jimmy!" I shuddered, my cheeks were on fire. "You idiot, we haven't even had sex yet, even though I really want to, because he's hot, but unlike you, I have class."

"Damn girl, you for real?" Franklin's brows raised, a slight rosiness crept across his cheeks. "I didn't know you was feelin' a nigga like that."

"Knowing Tracey, she probably feels every N-word like that," Jimmy rolled his eyes.

Trying my best ignore my idiot brother, I focused my attention on Franklin. I couldn't bear to make eye contact with him, my face still burning with heat. "Y-you know I like you," I mumbled, gazing at our feet. "Like, a lot…"

"Damn, what it do then, baby?" A smirk tugged at his full lips. "Gimme some of that ass girl, you ain't gotta be shy." He reached a hand under my skirt and pinched my thigh lightly.

"Ow," I giggled, swatting at his hand. "Stop it, you freak."

Franklin grinned, his face inched closer, the tip of his nose brushed mine. Our lips touched, just barely, so faint and innocently tender, our hot, shallow breaths intermingled. He held me close to his body, his stout frame chiseled to perfection, brown skin firm and unblemished—why must he be so flawless? The beat of his racing heart pounded against my chest, the tantalizing aroma of his cologne flooding my senses.

My mouth watered, heat flushing through me, warding off the bitter cold. I stared into his eyes as he studied me with silent, contemplative intensity, slight hues of gold danced and flickered within the smoldering depths of his warm brown gaze.

He had this irresistible charm about him, the danger and mystery surrounding the beautiful man captivated me. It was wondrously peculiar, that the strong, protective arms of a man I barely knew, caused time itself to come to a halt, and the rest of the world to melt away. My countless problems and worries dissolved into nothingness. I didn't know where I was, and I didn't care. Why should I? The only person who mattered was right there with me, holding me tight, shielding me from harm. His touch comforted me in ways words never could, and at that very moment, nestled in his embrace, everything felt right. Everything was perfect.

"All jokes aside…" Franklin spoke low, his tone little more than a whisper. "The feelings are mutual, sweetheart. Since we probably gon' die of hypothermia, I figured you should know—it's fuckin' crazy the way you make me feel, I ain't used to all these damn emotions. It's like you know me so well, you can see straight through my bullshit and I don't know how you do it but I'm…" He frowned, his words trailed off.

"But what?" I skimmed my fingers along his stubbled, sculpted jawline. "Talk to me."

"I'm torn, baby. I'm fallin' faster and faster, and I want you to fall with me, and stay down for me, but I know that's crazy. It's all happenin' so fast, and I'm tryin' to slow shit down before I crash—"

"Hey, I won't let you crash," I planted a kiss on his cheek. "I promise I'll be around to catch you, Frank."

He smiled. "You're real sweet, girl. But I know better than to get attached too fast. Shit, I know better than to get attached to anybody ever—at least I thought I did. I don't know what I know, or what I want anymore. I think I'm goin' crazy, crazier than I already am, and your dad finna kill my ass when he finds out 'bout us, considerin' Jimmy's a snitch ass bitch, but fuck it, I guess it's worth it. For you, it's worth it."

I beamed, my insides tingled, my heart was literally doing cartwheels. "Frank, I think that's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me—"

"Homie, I'd be careful around that white girl if I were you." Lamar slipped into the van, reclaiming his front seat. Ugh, he just had to ruin the moment. "You saw the way she pounced on her own flesh and blood, dog? Probably got bit by a raccoon or some shit while we weren't lookin', bitch could have rabies. Good thing we strapped though. Worst come to worst, we can put her flat ass out of her misery. Don't worry nigga, the moment she starts foaming at the mouth—bam! No hesitation nigga, I'm a fucking soldier, a merciless motherfucker, I ain't got no conscience—"

"Nigga," Franklin grimaced, his face pressed against my cheek for warmth, voice muffled. "Shut the fuck up, this shit is serious, fool. Why don't you take yo' wannabe Rambo ass outside and find us help, nigga? Make yourself useful man, instead of talkin' shit all day."

"Fuck outta here, Frank, it's cold as a motherfucker out there," Lamar tucked his hands deep into his cargo pockets. "As a matter of fact, it's cold as a motherfucker in here too. Yo, Chop, come to poppa." Chop shot up into a stance, and leapt into Lamar's lap.

"M-my ass is numb, homies," Jimmy stammered, his arms were tucked within his jersey. "What are we gonna do? Just sit here and freeze to death?"

"Real talk, homie, if we take our chances outside, we'll freeze to death even faster, man," Franklin said. "At least in here, we got shelter. Just try and stay warm, dog. Maybe some hillbillies might come along and help us out."

"Easy for you to say," Lamar muttered. "We ain't got no bitches to snuggle up with. Enjoy that shit while it lasts white girl, it's only a matter of time before you realize that motherfucker Frank ain't shit."

Franklin snorted. "You soundin' like a real hatin' ass nigga, Lamar. Chill homie, I know you mad, salty motherfucker, but that petty, jealousy shit ain't a good look for you."

"Call it what you want, fool. I'm just tellin' it how it is, I know you better than you know yourself, homie. For real though, nigga—you tellin' me our only chance at surviving this shit is if hillbillies, friendly ones at that, decide to rescue our asses?"

Franklin nodded. "Unless any of y'all got a better plan…"

"We fucked." Lamar muttered. "Even if hillbillies do come through, they probably gonna think we kidnapped these two prestigious motherfuckers and pop our black asses."

"That's if the drug cartel assholes don't find us first," Jimmy said.

"Or the coyotes," I added. "Coyotes kill people like, all the time. Snakes too."

"Nah, we should be worried about hippos," Lamar said. "Them some nasty, plump ass motherfuckers, they be dropping fools like flies."

"Lamar, homie, we ain't in Africa, dumb ass motherfucker," Franklin snapped. "Ain't no damn hippos out here."

He glared at Franklin. "Sure there is, I'm looking at one right now, fat fuck."

"Real funny, lanky ass bitch."

"Nah, you a bitch. You the reason I'm out here about to freeze to death, I can't even feel my lips, motherfucker. I shoulda let yo' trifling ass go to voicemail."

"Man, fuck you. Where the loyalty at, dog?"

"Fuck loyalty, and fuck you too, motherfucker…"

Franklin and Lamar continued to spit vulgar insults at one another. I sighed, trying to tune out them out. It was going to be a long, cold night.

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 **I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review, let me know what you think! Do you find the direction the fic is going interesting? Or would it had been better off just a one-shot lol? Regardless, your honest feedback inspires me to write more, and also helps me become a better writer. Thank you so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So it's been like two weeks since my last update, I'm sorry for the long wait! I'm back in school, and most days I'm too tired to write anything :(. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!**

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I lingered in Franklin's warm embrace for hours, lying prone on top of him, my head propped on his broad chest. His large, sturdy arms were clasped around my waist, holding me close. My palms caressed his toned, shivering limbs, in a desperate attempt to soothe his uncomfortably cold, exposed skin.

The night's cold had grown more intense, and arid with every passing second. The van was like an icebox, the frigid desert wind seeped through the car's cracked windows, and bullet pierced exterior. My dry throat burned with every breath, my bare legs numb.

"Frank," I murmured through chapped, trembling lips. "I'm so thirsty… I can't feel my legs…"

His hands gravitated to my bare thighs. He squeezed and rubbed them, his gentle strokes gradually returning blood flow to my lethargic limbs. "I can't feel my balls, girl," he muttered. "I think that shit froze off."

"Really?" My palm, guided by genuine concern, hesitantly cupped his crotch. For a fleeting moment, I jiggled his fleshy love muscles through the cotton confides of his green, camouflaged joggers. Franklin shuddered, his manhood twitched to life at my sudden touch. "Um, don't worry," I fumbled. "I uh… I think your baby making tools are still working as normal."

"A'ight, cool," he replied casually. "That's a relief."

"Nigga, I'm so fucking hungry," Lamar said. He sat behind the steering wheel, huddled up with Chop. Shivering, his bleary, hazel eyes ogled at the creature within his lap. "Yo, any of y'all know how dog meat tastes?"

"Woof," Chop's head shot straight up in response to Lamar's question, his tiny brown glare settled on his master. A threatening, low growl crept through the animal's lips.

"Alright damn, relax Chop," Lamar smoothed his fingers through Chop's fur, attempting to soothe him. "I ain't mean no disrespect, it was just a question."

"P-probably tastes like beef," Jimmy mumbled, teeth chattering fiercely. He gazed through the cracked windshield at the night's blackness, his wide body quaking. "Like yummy, delicious beef, laced with tears, regret, and lots self-loathing."

Franklin sighed. "We'll die of dehydration long before we start starvin'. It's cool Chop-Chop, you ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout."

"Well, it sucks to be you guys," Jimmy fished a square chocolate bar out of his jean pocket. "I came prepared for this situation. I always tote one of these babies around just in case—"

"Gimme that, nigga." Lamar reached out, and snatched the candy from Jimmy's hand.

"Hey!" Jimmy attempted to grab back his snack, but his pudgy arms were much too short compared to Lamar's lengthy reach. "Give it back, fucking bully asshole!"

"It's mine now, mark ass bitch." Lamar slapped a hand over Jimmy's face and shoved him away. "I'm doing you a favor, yo' fat ass need to skip a couple meals anyway."

"Replacement Dad!" Jimmy gazed at Franklin. "Lamar stole my chocolate. Jesus Christ, do something!"

I reluctantly crawled aside as Franklin sat up. "Ay Lamar, share that shit, homie. We all hungry, dog."

"Fuck you, nigga," Lamar grumbled as he freed the candy bar from its wrapper, tossing it aside. "This my payment for comin' all the way out here to help you save this ugly smurf motherfucker, I ain't have to do that shit, homie. I shoulda left y'all asses stranded. It's your fault I'm starving in the first place, Frank."

"Nigga, you ain't starvin', dramatic motherfucker. Why you gotta be so damn greedy?" Franklin stood, and gravitated to Lamar. Hovering over the back of his seat, with a swift swipe, Franklin wrenched the candy bar out of Lamar's grasp.

Fists clenched, Lamar sprang up. The lanky man towered over Franklin, and glared down into his eyes, his expression tight.

"Ay, bro, be cool, a'ight?" Franklin broke off a piece of the chocolate bar and handed it to him. "Y'all finna split this shit three ways. It's only fair, you ain't the only one who's hungry. Think 'bout the squad, dog."

"I'm gettin' real tired of this fucking squad, Frank," Lamar pulled away, and returned to his seat. "Feels like we babysitting, and I ain't mature enough to take care of two big ass kids, y'know what I'm sayin'? Why the fuck you think I gave you Chop? I hate responsibilities, dog, and these two prestigious motherfuckers feel like dead weight—"

"Screw you, it's my fucking chocolate," Jimmy exclaimed. "This is bullshit—"

"Stop fuckin' moanin', sharin' is carin', homie." Franklin snapped apart Jimmy's portion of the candy and flung it at him.

Franklin sagged onto the floor within the far corner of the van, and silently beckoned me over with a wave of his hand. Although it took a shitload of effort to get my stiff, freezing limbs moving, I gladly dragged myself back to him, the creeping cold was too severe to endure alone, I needed his body heat. His blunt fingers seized my waist the moment I was in reach, and I plopped down beside him.

His palm stroked my bare arm, providing my raw, icy skin with much needed warmth. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and fished out some crumpled tissues, and a stick of lip balm. Gently, he wiped my runny nose, and the dried sleep from my eyes. "Hold still," he muttered, removing the balm's cap. He worked the waxy substance over my chapped, burning lips, moisturizing my mouth in firm circles, the oily ointment had a refreshing peppermint taste.

"Here," Franklin presented the remainder of the chocolate bar to me.

"F-Frank, no," I stammered. "Aren't you hungry too?"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout me, I'm good." He placed the chocolate bar on my lap. "Here, it's all yours, eat up, baby. I know you love sweets, girl."

I nibbled on the cold, sugary candy silently. Despite the frigid conditions, heat rose to my cheeks, and my heart raced, chest aching. I couldn't muster the strength to meet his gorgeous gaze. My sight lowered to the floor.

Franklin was too good to me, so nurturing, and generous—I adored every moment of his thoughtful gestures, and attentive caresses. I was so thankful for him. Sure, things were bad, really bad, but at least my pathetic, giant mistake of a life wasn't such a lonely one anymore. Franklin was along for the terrible ride, suffering alongside me, and oddly enough, that made everything better. The dark, bitter cold world was a much brighter place with him around.

"Man, I miss the titty bar," Jimmy muttered. "I know it's kinda sleazy, but I think like, one or two of the strippers there really like me."

"Nigga, ain't nothing wrong with gettin' your dick wet at the titty joint," Lamar said. "I know this one stripper, Lakisha, she so damn fine man, I'd lick the shit off the back and the front of her fat ass right now, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That bitch's ass crack gonna be squeaky clean as a motherfucker, day in and day out."

"You some nasty ass nigga, Lamar," Franklin said, his broad nose wrinkled. "You ain't got no fuckin' home trainin'."

"I'm a dirty, kinky motherfucker, that's all that is," Lamar replied. "What's wrong wit' eatin' some booty every now and then, nigga?"

"There's a lot wrong with eatin' stripper ass," Franklin said. "Ain't a damn thing right 'bout it, nigga."

Lamar snorted. "That's real funny comin' from you, Frank. You and that crazy old dude be at the titty joint so often, y'all fools practically live there."

"Lookin' at stripper ass, feelin' it up, slappin' that shit—that's all cool," Franklin said. "But you gotta draw the line somewhere, you feel me? Personally, I draw it right before I end up with shit and flesh eatin' bacteria on my lips. You can't trust stripper ass, dog. You don't know where the fuck her ass has been, man."

"You trippin' Frank, I've been eatin' booty for years nigga, ain't shit went wrong yet. If you get some shit on your tongue, just swallow it down like a soldier and keep going. Ain't nothin' more romantic than that, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"That's gross," I muttered.

"I never ate ass before homie," Jimmy said.

"You don't want to, dog," Franklin replied.

"Don't pay no attention to Frank, he a vanilla ass bitch," Lamar said. "He don't know nothing about this advance shit. Listen up to your boy little nigga, you ain't really lived 'til you munched on some asshole. And I don't mean like a little taste, I mean tongue buried in that motherfucker, slurpin' that shit like a milkshake, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Nah homie," Franklin grumbled. "We don't know what the fuck you sayin', so how 'bout you shut yo' ass up? Nasty motherfucker."

Lamar waved a hand at Franklin dismissively. "If you don't know, you gonna learn today, fool. By the end of the night, you gonna be eatin' ass like you were born for that shit. I remember the first time I ate your aunt's ass like yesterday—"

"What?" Franklin's eyes widened.

"Yeah, you heard me, dog. Since we probably gonna die and shit, there's somethin' I gotta get off my chest." Lamar shifted in his seat to face Franklin. "I've been all up in your aunt's ass, been snackin' on that shit for months now, nigga. Don't trip though, I know that shit foul, but she so damn gorgeous, dog. I couldn't help myself. You know how these fine bitches out here be temptin' a thug, and if I see some shit I want, I gotta have it, I go hard for it, big dick, balls deep, nigga." Lamar tapped Jimmy's shoulder. "Check it out little homie, there's steps to feastin' on the booty, you feel me? First you gotta clap the ass and then…"

I attempted to tune out Lamar's disturbingly detailed instructions on butt eating by focusing my attention on Franklin. His handsome face was distorted into a grimace, lips curled, his stare flat. Lamar's gross confession regarding his aunt clearly wasn't sitting well with him.

In an effort to distract him from his blatant disgust with Lamar, I crawled into his lap, my thighs straddled his. "Hi," I greeted.

His hard stare shifted from Lamar and settled on me, softening. "What's good, baby?"

I stared at him with a grin, awkwardly almost, I studied his well-defined face. His complexion was a deep, lovely brown, no blemishes or scars, how'd the heck did he keep his skin so perfect? He had such a strong face, with broad cheekbones, sculpted chin prominent and dimpled. I pinched his rugged cheeks, his manly beard was rather neat, the stubble roughening the sharp line of his wide, powerful jaws. He winced at my playful touching, his long lashes blinking, a smirk tugged at his full lips.

"You have a nice face," I declared. "Your face is my favorite face of all the faces, the bestest face of them all."

"Yeah?" He chuckled. "That's random as shit, but I'm flattered. I like your face too, you got some real pretty eyes."

"I do?"

"Fo' sho', baby. They all blue and sparklin', like the ocean on a sunny day. "

I beamed, shyly, and pressed the small, remaining portion of my chocolate against the seam of his lips. "Want some?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "It's all good."

"Fine." I devoured the final bit of the savory candy. "I wish you weren't so stubborn, you could've tried it. You deserve to eat just as much as the rest of us."

Franklin smirked, and cupped my cheek, a glint of mischief sparkled in his warm, steady gaze. God, was it easy to get lost in his eyes, his dark brown stare sprinkled with amber, and framed by thick, gorgeous lashes. I shivered, another wave of goosebumps rose across my skin. His face inched closer, our noses brushed. "It ain't too late, baby," he muttered, his husky voice was little more than a whisper. "You got some chocolate left on your lips. Mind if I get a taste?"

The sensation of his warm breath on my lips caused my heart to race, pounding in my ears. Our closeness had completely scrambled my thoughts, and all awareness of the world around me had faded away. The effect he had on me was driving me crazy. The mere thought of kissing him left me breathless, stomach fluttering madly. I knew we had our first kiss yesterday at his place, but I was pretty damn intoxicated that night, I had grown bold and gutsy under the influence of alcohol.

But I was sober and alert now. Without the alcoholic substances to repel my fears and worries, my countless insecurities reared their ugly head. Did my breath stink? What if I bit his lip? Or drooled on him? The fluttering excitement in my stomach curdled into panic, and overwhelming nausea.

We hadn't known each other for long, but I liked him regardless, I liked him more than I cared to admit out loud. He was different from other guys, so much better than the desperate losers I had a crappy habit for swooning over in the past. Despite how badly I craved his touch, I was much more terrified of ruining things between us.

"Frank…" I mumbled, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, my chin pressed to my chest.

For all that brawn and good looks, Franklin was surprisingly receptive and observant, quickly making note of my hesitation. He withdrew, his hand lowered from my face to his side. "You a'ight?" he asked.

"Yeah," I feigned a smile. "I just…" I fumbled, trying to think of an excuse for my weird behavior. "I wanted to thank you for giving me the last piece of the chocolate bar. That was, y'know, really awesome of you."

"Yeah?" Franklin stared at me, brows furrowed. The handsome man was perceptive, the heat of his studious gaze had me on edge. My cheeks burned. I couldn't bear to make eye contact with him, worried that he'd see straight through my lie, if he hadn't already, that is.

A slow smile building on his face, his blunt fingers gravitated to my waist, and lightly brushed over my sides. The ticklish sensation forced me to grin, the awkward tension in the air dissipated.

"There ain't nothin' to thank me for," Franklin said, he spoke in gentle whispers so Jimmy and Lamar wouldn't overhear. "Food ain't really a concern right now, it's dehydration, and luckily for us, I'm used to goin' days at a time without eatin'. Back in the hood, keepin' the lights on and the rent paid took priority over snackin'. Some nights, I had to swipe shit just to keep my moms and I fed."

"I'm so sorry." I frowned. "Was your mom not working at the time?"

"Nah, she was usually too strung out on coke to do a damn thing."

"Jeez, that sucks. I'm glad my dad helped you, Frank. Can you imagine if you and him never crossed paths? You and I would had never met."

"Nah, that ain't somethin' I wanna imagine. I know we here stranded but, I'm glad you with me, as selfish as that shit sounds. I mean, it woulda been safer if you had listened to your moms and stayed behind but…"

"I don't regret going with you, despite everything." I propped my head comfortably on his shoulder. "Remember last night? You told me to bear with you, and I promised you I would, even though you make it hard sometimes."

"Yeah, I know I'm difficult as shit to deal with. I'ma moody motherfucker, can't help it." He took hold of my idle hand resting on his lap, and smoothed his thumb over my cold palm, occasionally playing with my knuckles as he spoke. "Shit, I don't know what I woulda done to Jimmy for sellin' my whip if you weren't here. When I get angry, sometimes I start seein' red, and I can't control myself, but you keep me calm, Trace. I need to keep yo' cute ass around. I like me when you're near, you make it easier to be a better person, everythin' don't seem so fucked up when we're together."

"I'm here for you, Frank." I cupped his cheek, and stroked my fingers through his beard stubble. "There's so much good in you, I can see it. And I want you to see it too."

"Maybe you can help me find it, 'cause I've been lookin' for the good in me for a long while now. I got a tendency to get real violent, you feel me? It used to be much worse when I was younger. You know I assaulted my teacher in high school?"

"Oh my god," I gasped. "Seriously? I hated like, ninety-nine percent of my teachers, but I never hit them, even though I imagined doing it multiple times, very thoroughly."

He grinned. "I actually had the balls to go through with that shit though."

"So, what happened afterwards?"

"Well, I got suspended, and had too much time on my hands. Started gettin' into trouble, hustlin' with Lamar, sellin' cigarettes and shit. That's how my life of crime started, once you get into that shit, it's hard to bounce back. If I ain't never touch that lame ass teacher though, I think I'd be a totally different nigga—college degree, and a white-collar job. I'd probably be a doctor, savin' lives instead of takin' them, you feel me?"

"You don't assault people anymore, right? Without a good reason, at least?"

"Nah, I calmed down a lot since then, if you can believe it. Stopped bein' so angry with the world. I mean, I'm still bitter 'bout a lot of shit, but not as much as I used to be."

"That's good, just don't take your bitterness out on me, okay?" I pinched his cheek. "Or I'll totally sic daddy and Uncle T on you."

"Well shit, I hope you don't gotta resort to that. Not ever." He lifted my hand to his lips, and planted a kiss on my knuckles. "For real though, I'd never hurt you like that. It ain't even 'bout your dad, it's just basic ethics. When I heard through the grapevine that my pops used to hit my moms, I wasn't surprised. No wonder she was so fucked up, sniffin' coke all the time just to forget the pain." Franklin swallowed hard, a grimace lingered on his face as he recalled the unpleasant memories. "I ain't got it in me to put a woman through that type of grief. Nobody deserves that, especially not from the person you love."

I studied him, his gaze was dull and empty. The painful recollection of his past had forced him into a brooding state. My stomach dropped. I was glad he trusted me enough to confide in me, that he didn't try so hard to hide his hurt from me anymore, but it wasn't easy to witness regardless.

"Frank?" I asked. At the call of his name, he gazed down at me. "It sucks, the way your father used to treat your mom, the way he just walked out of your life without ever looking back. He didn't even care to get to know you. I hate him already, you're better off without him."

"Fo' sho'," he sighed. "Wherever that motherfucker is hidin', life goes on, with or without him. I ain't in a good place mentally, and whenever I think 'bout my pops, it fucks with my head, makes me feel even more depressed than I already fuckin' am. I can't afford to dwell on that shit."

"I know but, you can't just make a person—a living, breathing human being, and then abandon them. They'll think they're a mistake, like they're not worth being loved. At least, that's how I'd feel if my dad left me. But you're so worth it, Franklin. You're worth all the love in the freaking world."

"Yeah?" He combed his fingers through the blonde, sweaty mass of hair blocking my face, and tucked the strands neatly behind my ear. "You think so, baby?"

"I know so." I pointed at the sky through the van's cracked windshield, most of the faded stars above were hidden behind a thick sheet of dark fog. "Look, do you see those stars hiding behind the clouds?"

"Uh-huh," Franklin replied.

"You're worth all the stars in the sky, every single one of them."

He wrinkled his nose in protest. "Nuh-uh, that's a lot of stars, girl. Billions of them motherfuckers. Can't be worth all that."

"You so are though," I buried my face in his smooth neck for warmth. "You deserve the stars, and the moon—"

"For real? The whole damn moon?"

"The whole thing, there's no debating it. Just you wait, once we're out of here, I'm gonna grab the stars, and the moon, and the sky too, and I'm gonna give it all to you. Everyone in the world is gonna be so jealous of how amazing and special you are."

"Aw, ain't you sweet?" He smiled, a blush crept along his broad cheeks. "A'ight, but how you finna do all that? You got them little midget legs, you can't reach that high, baby."

"True, but you're like a giant. If I climb on top of you, we can reach the stars, no problem, easy-peasy. And if that doesn't work, we'll use your smarts to figure out a different way, because let's admit it, you're the brains here, and the brawn too, for that matter. But together, with me as your short, but spunky sidekick, we can do anything in the entire world."

"Damn straight, you're the miniature sidekick I always wanted, a dream come true. There ain't nothin' we can't do so long as we got each other."

I smiled. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Anythin'."

"Even though Jimmy is a complete idiot, he had a point earlier. You're rich, and handsome, super generous and smart, you can get any girl you want." I cupped his chin, and tilted his head slightly. His soft brown eyes met mine. "Should I be worried, Frank? It's better if you let me know now if this is better off just a fling…"

He sighed, his thumb caressed my cheek as he studied me, his brows furrowed in thought. "What if I told you you're special?"

"I'd think you're lying."

"Yeah, and I don't blame yo' fine ass for that. I'm sure you heard that line plenty of times before, huh?"

"I have," I muttered. "Just about every girl has been showered with sweet lies before. He'll tell her she's flawless and perfect, he'll promise her the world—he might even tell her he's in love, and vow to be with her forever, and ever. If she's young and innocent enough, she might just do something crazy, like believe it. It's not her fault, after all, everyone wants to be in love, y'know? Doesn't the idea of being someone's everything sound amazing? To be their beginning, middle and end, until the day you die?"

He nodded. "Sure, it's a cool idea, but things rarely turn out that way."

"Yeah," I frowned. "I learned that lesson the hard way. It sucks how someone can go from a stranger, to a lover, and back to a stranger again, despite all the amazing moments you shared. It happens so fast—a person can just walk out of your life without a second thought. It's a really lonely feeling, when you realize he never really loved you in the first place."

Franklin pulled me closer, his palm caressing my skin. I melted into his warm embrace, the comforting gesture forced a smile to my face. "Who's the shady motherfucker who broke your heart? You want me to fuck his triflin' ass up for you, girl?"

"That jerk off is so not worth the trouble." I kissed his chin. "But thanks, it's the thought that counts."

"I got you. For real though, I get you've been hurt in the past, I have too. Pain changes you, it makes it really fuckin' hard to trust people. You remember that speech you made 'bout openin' up, bein' vulnerable, and takin' risks? I took your advice, and here I am, right here with you. And you know what? It ain't so bad. You make real good company."

Heat rose to my cheeks. "Really?"

"Fo' sho', Trace. I mean, yeah, I'm cold as fuck, I can barely feel my legs, and I'm a little nauseous, but there ain't nowhere else I rather be, despite the circumstances. Practice what you preach, it's okay to be afraid, I am too, but fuck it. We might as well learn to trust one another, 'cause we in deep shit, and you're all I got, besides them two stupid motherfuckers in the front, and Chop."

I glanced at Lamar and Jimmy. They were still engaged in their gross, uncomfortably detailed conversation about butt eating. I rolled my eyes, and focused my attention back on Franklin.

"I ain't tryna waste the last few possible moments of my life bein' shady, you feel me?" Franklin continued. "I promise I'll be honest from here on out, a'ight?"

I raised my fist, and extended my pinky. "Pinky promise?"

He smirked. "For real? Ain't we too old for that?"

"Nope, we totally aren't. Pinky swears are sacred for adults and children alike. They can't be broken, not ever, or it's like, a hundred years bad luck. You don't want to spend the rest of your life slipping on random banana peels, do you?"

"Nah, we can't have that. Fuck bananas." His pinky intertwined with mine. "A'ight, there, I promise to always spit the truth, brutal fuckin' honesty, nothin' less than that."

"Good, you'll be boyfriend material in no time at this rate. There's a lot more to it than being protective, and hot, y'know?"

"Ain't that the truth?" He shook his head. "I gotta embrace my sensitive side, and all that shit. It's a work in progress, a'ight sweetie? I'm sorry 'bout that dude breakin' your heart though, some fools are real good at sellin' lies. Shit, I got a track record for tellin' women anythin' they wanna hear too, just for a quick fuck, only to hate myself for it afterwards. But with you, it's different. Can't bring myself to do that shit, I know you deserve better than that."

"You do too." I rubbed his broad back. "You deserve to be loved and adored, not abandoned. Y'know, I almost feel bad for your pathetic excuse for a father. If only he knew how thoughtful, kind and nurturing his son grew up to be without him." I pecked his sculpted jaw. "You're the sweetest car thief and murderer on the face of the planet, Frank. If only he knew how awesome and flawed you are—you're so imperfectly perfect, it hurts."

"Trace…" Franklin beamed, cheeks glowing, an appreciative sigh escaped him. "You're makin' my heart beat too damn fast. Stop that shit, you finna kill my ass with sweetness before the hypothermia does." He planted a kiss on my forehead. "You know what I don't get though?"

"What?"

"If I deserve love and affection, then that means you do too, if not more. So, why won't you let me give you any? It's cool if you're nervous, or scared, there ain't no rush. You can be honest with me, if somethin' is botherin' you, tell me. Am I too pushy? Am I makin' you feel uncomfortable?"

Crap, this had to be about the kiss I dodged earlier. Ugh, I knew he'd see through my lie. "No, no, it's nothing like that," I muttered. "I'm just… I'm scared I'll be like, a terrible kisser."

He grinned. "Girl, you always playin'."

"Hey!" I slapped my palm over his mouth. "Don't laugh at me, jerk. I'm serious."

"You for real?" He asked, brows raised, his voice muffled by my hand.

"Yes," I grumbled. "My last boyfriend, Gary, I kissed him so hard once, I made his lips bleed."

Franklin winced, lowering my hand from his face. "Look, I don't give a fuck if you're a bad kisser, a'ight? Practice makes perfect."

I blinked. "Really? You don't care if I bite you, or drool on you?"

"Nah, you good. I really don't care. A little nibblin' ain't never hurt nobody, and if you slob on me, well…" He shrugged his shoulders. "Fuck it, it is what it is. You didn't seem so bad at it last night though."

"I was drunk last night, I do everything better when I'm drunk. I was shitfaced during like, every one of my performances on Fame or Shame, I wouldn't had made it to the finals otherwise. It's a blessing and a curse, I get it from my dad."

"A'ight, I'll take your word for it. Get yo' narrow ass up, and look at me."

I sat up, and gazed at him. "Okay. What for?"

"Kiss me," Franklin demanded.

"H-huh?" My heart skipped a beat. "What'd you say?"

"You heard me. Practice makes perfect, right? Lemme see what you got."

Chest tightening, I stared at him incredulously. "Seriously? I-I can't just do it on demand like that, it's awkward now…"

"Stop thinkin', just do it. Don't bitch up, take initiative—"

My stomach churning, and nerves on edge, I closed my eyes and threw myself at him.

 ** _Bonk!_**

My forehead collided with his, a sharp pain pulsated through my skull. "Ow…" I whimpered. I was such a friggin' klutz.

"Goddamn, girl," Franklin grimaced. "You a'ight?"

"No, I'm not alright." My eyes watered, life as I knew it was over. Please god, just let me freeze to death already, so the pain and suffering would end. "I'm sorry, I told you I was crap at this. This is so embarrassing—"

"Relax, sweetie." He took me into his arms, and caressed my aching head. "You fuck up once, you brush yourself off and try again, a'ight? It ain't the end of the world."

I sniffed, and shifted from his warm embrace. Determined to make up for my major failure a second ago, I clutched his shirt, and stared into his soft brown eyes. "I'm gonna kiss the living shit out of you, and you're gonna like it, I hope. Are you ready for this?"

He smirked. "I was born ready—"

I sucked in a deep breath and crashed my lips against Franklin's. His soft, full lips parted slightly, and he remained still, forcing me to take the lead, my hot, quaking breaths mingled with his. Heart hammering against my chest, unsure of what to do without his guidance, I penetrated his parted lips with a deep thrust of my tongue. The kiss was wet, clumsy and fierce, my tongue explored the hot depths of his mouth, my saliva seeped down his strong chin. I abruptly pulled away just slightly, and attempted my infamous nibbling technique—I bit down on his lower lip, pulling and chewing on his tender flesh.

Franklin winced, a tight groan of pain escaped him as he tore away from me. "Fuck," he cursed, wiping the thick slobber from his face. "You been spendin' too much time with Uncle T or some shit? I said kiss me, not eat my fuckin' face, there's a difference, baby, damn."

"I-I'm sorry," I cried. "I was trying to mix things up and be spontaneous, y'know? You don't like nibbling?"

"Nah, it ain't that…" Franklin grew silent. He seemed to be engrossed in an inner battle to suppress his bad temper, his strong jaw clenched, and neck corded. He let out a deep sigh, the tension in his rigid muscles slowly releasing. "Sure, nibblin' is cool in moderation, Trace," he spoke low, his voice soft, and carefully controlled. "But were you munchin' on my lip like a beaver. You gotta slow it down, try easin' into it next time."

"It's not as easy as you make it sound, you ass," I retorted, lowering my head. "Clearly, I'm not nearly as experienced as you are. Whenever I do intimate stuff, I turn into a nervous wreck, especially when it's with you, Frank. You know how I feel about you, I don't want to ruin things…"

Franklin flashed a pearly white smile. "You're so sweet, you know that?" He cupped my chin, lifting my head, our eyes locked. "The feelings are mutual sweetie, a'ight? And it's gon' take a lot more than your excessive droolin', and your jagged ass teeth to change that, you feel me? I prefer shit rough anyway, so it's cool, try not to worry so much."

"You're so understanding, Frank." I clung to his massive arm and hugged his muscles tight. "Thank you," I murmured, my face nuzzled his broad shoulder. "I don't know how you put up with my crap sometimes."

"Nah, you make it easy. You're hard to resist, whenever I pull away, you draw me right back in, always makin' me feel all warm and fuzzy inside—I ain't too sure if I can handle this shit long term. There's only so much a man can take." Franklin laid a palm on my thigh, his blunt fingers caressed my bare skin. His handsome face broadening into a wide grin, he pressed his full lips against my earlobe, and whispered, "Why don't you scoot yo' little cute ass self a little closer? Lemme cop a feel of that booty, baby. Promise I'll be gentle-ish."

"You're such a freak, Frank." I smiled, and cupped his neck. I loved the sensation of his clean-shaven skin under my fingertips, his neck was so strong, yet smooth and vulnerable. It was one of my favorite physical features about him, besides his beautiful eyes and rough, ticklish beard. "Your obsession with butts can't be healthy, you need to see a doctor, pronto—"

"I can't take this anymore!" Jimmy yelled. "If I hear one more word about Lamar's ass licking, or shit guzzling, I'm gonna fucking lose it! Fuck, where did I go wrong in my life? Out of all the countless ways to die, it had to be in the desert, cooped up in this piece of shit car, with you assholes... ugh, I hate this!"

I glared at him. "Seriously? You wanna know where you went wrong? Oh, well here's an idea—remember when you snuck out of the house and stole Franklin's car, just to go to a dirty, sleazy strip club? Despite us warning you that a drug cartel was hunting us? If you weren't such a desperate, fat-headed klepto, none of us would be here right now."

"Holy fucking shit, the irony!" Jimmy flung his arms into the air. "You're the most desperate one here, you dirty, homie-fucker. Franklin was my friend first—"

"Would y'all stop fuckin' arguin'?" Franklin grumbled. "That childish bullshit ain't helpin', it's just givin' me a headache."

"No offense, F-Dog, but you aren't helping anything either, homie," Jimmy retorted. "We'll be flesh icicles by the time help arrives, your stupid, half-baked plan is going to get us killed. Watching you make goo-goo eyes with my slut sister is just as infuriating as listening to Lamar's disgustingly long, ass slurping chronicles. Y-you know what? Fuck this, I'm leaving. You miserable pricks can sit here and freeze your dicks off if you want, but your boy Jizzle is out. Peace, bitches." Jimmy raised two fingers at us, gesturing a peace sign before he forced the car door open, and stepped into the darkness.

Lamar shrugged his shoulders. "Peace, fat motherfucker. You ain't gonna make it too far with the sand up to your chin anyway, little smurf ass bitch."

"Fuck you!" Jimmy slammed the door behind him.

Pulse racing in my ears, I crawled to the van's double doors and pushed them open, dropping onto the cold ground. The darkness was thick and smothering, but due to the beam of steady light radiating from the phone in Jimmy's mitts, I managed to catch up with him. Thankfully, he was only a short distance from the car. "Jimmy!" I clutched onto his jersey. "Where the hell are you going?"

He jerked himself from my grip, legs planted wide. "To find us help, okay? I'm not gonna spend another second just sitting around with my thumb up my ass, waiting to freeze to death. I rather die a hero than a pussy, you feel me?"

"You gone and lost your motherfuckin' mind, dog," Franklin appeared beside me. "You ain't gon' be no hero—you finna die like the fuckin' idiot you are if you go out there by yourself."

"I'll take my chances, asshole." Jimmy turned away, stomping through the sand.

"Ay man!" Franklin grimaced, and stormed after him. "You ain't thinkin' straight, dog. We gotta stick together." He latched onto Jimmy's arm roughly, stopping his advance. Fists clenched, and teeth bared, Jimmy whirled around, and threw a sucker punch at Franklin, his short, pudgy arms reached high over his head in a bold attempt to reach Franklin's face.

 ** _Whack._** Jimmy's pale knuckles collided with Franklin's sculpted jaw. Franklin however, was unmoved by the sudden attack, his expression stony, and feet rooted in the sand. He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy, nostrils flared, the veins in his forehead grew engorged, and pulsated.

My stomach dropped. Jimmy was so screwed.

Jimmy froze, staring at Franklin wide-eyed, the blood drained from his face. "F-Franklin, homie, I-I didn't mean to do that." Jimmy coughed out an awkward laugh. "It's just um, really dark out here, dude. I was trying to dap you up, give you a pound, y'know? Because you're my home boy, my brother from another mother, remember? Crazy the way my hand just slips sometimes, huh? Wow, I can't believe I hit you, F-Dog. You know I love you homie, right?"

Franklin appeared unconvinced, his thick brows deeply furrowed with fury.

"I'm so fucking sorry, please, don't hurt me," Jimmy cowered. "Violent impulses run in my family, I was born this way, blame my dad—"

Franklin launched a quick jab at Jimmy's face. **_Crack!_** Poor Jimmy clung to his nose, his cries pierced the air. I winced, startled by the vicious blow, I could had sworn I heard the some of the bones inside his fat face snap like a twig. He sagged into the sand, tears swelled in his eyes, blood spilling from his nostrils.

"Oh my god, James!" I knelt before my little brother, frantically wiping the blood from his upper lip and chin as he screamed at the top of his lungs in absolute agony, like a newborn baby straight out of the womb.

"I-I said I was sorry," Jimmy cried, hugging his legs to his chest, rocking in place. "You're such a raging lunatic, it's like you can't even help yourself, like you don't know any better. I'm sorry I lashed out at you, dude, I'm just scared, and cold, and… I don't wanna die here. I'm still a virgin, homie…"

"Are you happy now?" I glared at Franklin. "You must feel like such a bad ass."

"The hell is goin' on out here?" Lamar and Chop approached us. "What's wrong with y'all?" He winced at the sight of Jimmy's bloody face. "Damn, Frank, what you did to the smurf, homie?"

"Jimmy, man," Franklin grumbled, his jaw clenched, and his tone deadpan—careful, and controlled. "Stop moanin' like a bitch, a'ight? You good, don't be so fuckin' dramatic."

He took a step toward Jimmy. I stood, and shoved his hard body away from my brother. "Seriously? What kind of apology is that, Franklin? Do you see what you did to his face?"

"The fuck you want me to say?" Franklin shrugged his broad shoulders. "I ain't mad at him for stealin' my whip, that'd make me a hypocrite, you feel me? But this motherfucker did sell it for less than twenty times it's worth, and he's the reason we're fuckin' stranded out here. And after everythin' we did to save his punk ass, the ungrateful fuck tried to break my fuckin' jaw. You know damn well this motherfucker don't deserve no sympathy, girl."

Franklin scrubbed his trembling hands over his face. He gazed at Jimmy's coiled frame, still swaying in place as he held his injured face. "I can't take much more of this shit," he shouted. "I'm the one who should be curled up in fetal position, rocking back and forth and shit. If I keep fuckin' around with y'all, I'ma end up in the goddamn loony bin. I don't know how the fuck Michael does it, no wonder that motherfucker so damn crazy. It all makes sense now, y'all two drove his old ass up the fuckin' walls."

Franklin kicked his heel through the sand in a fit of rage. I rolled my eyes. Jeez, and he claimed my dad and Jimmy were dramatic. How ironic.

"Damn, look at this nutty ass nigga," Lamar took my side, and shook his head. "That's a damn shame. I don't know what y'all did, but this fool gone and completely lost his shit—"

A cluster of savage howls pierced the crisp desert air, it was painfully loud, and I was sure the noises had come from nearby. I flinched, and skipped into Franklin's embrace. "Coyotes!" I exclaimed. The darkness had pressed in on us, it was a struggle to see anything.

"Holy shit!" Jimmy scampered to a stance, and clung to Lamar's baggy shirt. He swiveled his phone's light around us, in a frantic search for the predators lurking close in the darkness. "Somebody do something!"

Lamar drew his gun, and Chop stood battle ready at his master's feet, his bulging muscles tensed, teeth bared as he barked ferociously at the unknown predators hidden in the shadows. There was growling, the pitter-patter of slow, menacing footsteps circled and eddied around us. A cold sweat rolled down my neck, my stiff fingers coiled tightly to Franklin's t-shirt.

Chop abruptly dashed forward, the fearless dog flung himself into the darkness to face our encroaching enemies. Vicious snarling filled the air, followed by primal and animalistic crying, the pained yelping caused me to shudder.

"Fuck this!" Using his phone light as a guide, Jimmy tore away from us, fleeing the scene at full speed.

"Chop!" Lamar called out, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. He attempted to take a step forward after his dog, but Franklin clutched his shoulder. "Let go of me, nigga!" Lamar snapped. "Little homie needs us—"

"Nigga, are you crazy?" Franklin yanked him back. "It's too fuckin' dark, dog. Little homie gon' have to fend for his rabid ass self. C'mon, fool! Move!"

"A-alright, man, fuck." Lamar jerked himself from Franklin's grip, and took one last look into the blackness that had swallowed Chop, before darting after Jimmy.

Franklin took my hand, and we sped off behind Lamar. Feet blistering under my sand caked sandals, and windy desert air whipping against my face, it was a struggle trying to keep up with the men. The dogs were in hot pursuit, their paws clapped against the sand, barking growing louder and louder. My throat tightened, tendrils of fear gripped my neck like an iron hand, choking the breath from my lungs. There was no way we could outrun them! They were closing in, their drooling, snapping jaws were at my sore heels.

Lamar abruptly about-faced, feet rooted in the ground, and in an instant, his Uzi appeared within his grasp.

"Get the fuck down!" he demanded, pointing his gun straight at us.

Without a moment of hesitation, Franklin broke his sprint and slid into the sand, yanking me down into the dirt with him. Lamar aimed the gun over our heads, into the darkness behind us, and touched the trigger.

 ** _Bang! Bang! Bang!_**

He unleashed a long, unrelenting barrage of blind gunfire into darkness, the muzzle flash illuminated his sweaty, flustered face with every exploding shot. I cowered, palms pressed against my ears to block out the deafening gunfire, my body quaking violently under the onslaught of bullets soaring over my head. Franklin's muscled arm wrapped around me, and he pulled me in, his large body smothered mine like a human shield.

Lamar emptied the gun's entire magazine into the air. Silence fell over the land, all that remained was the ebb and flow of our harsh, unsteady breathing. Tiny footsteps fled in the distance. A deep sigh escaped me. Thank god, the dogs were gone, the gunfire must had scared them away.

"Homies!" Jimmy called out from a short distance away. He shined his phone's light on us, the strong beam drowned out the surrounding darkness.

"Yeah, that's what I fuckin' thought, pussy motherfuckers!" Lamar's voice echoed through bitter cold air. "Y'all better run! I'm the top dog out here, a real motherfuckin' gangsta, a cold-blooded soldier, can't nobody creep on me, y'know what I'm sayin'? All of you bitch ass desert niggas gonna learn today! Where them motherfuckin' hippos at? They can get it too, ain't none of y'all safe—"

Lamar's frenzied yelling was interrupted by a peculiar hissing noise. It was sharp and primal, the prolonged, threatening sound sent a chill down my spine. A shadowy figure slithered through the dirt between his sneakers, it was enormously long and thin, skin brown and scaly, its forked tongue flittering. I froze, chest tightening. Holy crap, it had to be a snake…

Franklin stared wide-eyed at the creepy, scaled creature encircling Lamar's legs. Unlike me, he managed to keep a level head, very cautiously, he rose to a stance, and swept me off my feet into his protective embrace. "Yo, homie," he muttered, slowly backpedaling away from Lamar. "I wouldn't make any sudden movements if I were you, dog."

"What you mean, nigga?" Lamar stared at us blankly. "Why y'all fools look so shook? Y'all makin' me nervous."

"S-snake…" I pointed a trembling finger at his feet.

Lamar glanced below, the color drained from his face at the sight of the snake slithering at his heels. "Oh shit!" Spurred by random impulse, he stomped on the creature's tail. If the predator wasn't angered before, it certainly was now. The serpent stood straight up, thin fangs bared and curved like sharp hooks, it lunged at him, and snapped at his leg.

"Fuck!" Lamar cried, he buckled over to the ground. Face twisted into a grimace, he scrambled away from the agitated viper.

Franklin set me down, and hurried to Lamar's side. "Ay man, you a'ight, dog?"

"Nah, nigga, nah…" Lamar muttered between clenched teeth, his hands clung to his injured ankle, blood seeped from between his fingers. "Do I look alright to you, motherfucker? Fuck…"

"Holy shit," Jimmy appeared before Lamar, he shined the beam of his phone's light at his bloody wound. "Is homie gonna be alright? W-what if it was poisonous, guys?"

"Nah," Franklin said. "That wasn't no rattlesnake, man—"

"Ay, Frank," Lamar whimpered. "I'm dyin' homie. I can't… I can't feel my leg, nigga. It's the poison, man. I ain't got much longer, I can feel it in my motherfuckin' veins…"

"Nah, you good, dog. Don't be so dramatic, a'ight? C'mon, get yo' ass up." Franklin reached out to Lamar.

Lamar gripped Franklin's arm, and jerked him close. "You a moody motherfucker, Frank," he said softly. "But you like a brother to me. I love yo' ass, I love you to death, dog."

Franklin frowned. "Lamar, why you talkin' like that, nigga—"

"You got love for me, homie?"

"What?"

Lamar's bloody fingers clutched the back of Franklin's head, pulling him closer. His hazel, bloodshot gaze stared deeply into his best friend's eyes. "I said, do you got love for your boy?"

"I, uh…" Franklin fumbled, brows furrowed. "I guess, nigga. Why?"

"I need you to suck the venom out my leg. I saw it work in a movie dog, it's gotta be legit—"

"Nigga, what?" Franklin wrenched himself from Lamar's grip. "I ain't suckin' on your hairy ass leg, you must have lost yo' damn mind, I don't love yo' ass that fuckin' much."

"F-Dog, homie," Jimmy said. "You gotta do something! What if Lamar's actually poisoned?"

"Then that's this nigga's ass," Franklin replied. "I ain't finna do shit. If you care so damn much, then why don't you do it?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Nuh-uh, that's your main homie, not mine."

"Mhm, I see how y'all roll," Lamar said. "If I die, I'm hauntin' y'all from beyond the grave, selfish motherfuckers," Lamar gazed at me. "What 'bout you, white girl? You gonna help a nigga out or what?"

"Um…" I huddled close to Franklin, the sight of Lamar's raw pink flesh, spotted with blood, put me on edge.

"Tracey, this is your one chance to finally put your slutty antics to good use," Jimmy said. "If there's anyone who can suck a lethal amount of poison straight out of a dude's bloodstream, it'd be you. What are you waiting for? Get down there and do your thing, this is like your expertise."

"Are you serious?" I asked, brows raised. "Is sucking the venom out of someone actually a thing? Could it save him?"

Franklin glared at me. "Don't even think 'bout that shit, girl. I ain't gon' let you contaminate those pretty ass lips of yours tryna save this rabid ass nigga. Who knows how many bloodborne diseases this fool totin' around—he probably got malaria, syphilis, HIV, hepatitis B and more." He threw Lamar's arm over his broad shoulder, and with seemingly little effort, he rose, heaving Lamar's lanky body up into a stance. "I can't bring you back home to your moms with herpes, Trace. It's gon' be real hard tryna explain how you got all them cold sores 'round your mouth, baby. So chill, a'ight? This nigga ain't worth it."

"Motherfucker," Lamar grumbled, leaning on Franklin for support.

"W-what are we gonna do now?" Jimmy asked, teeth chattering.

"A'ight, well, assuming this fool is actually poisoned…" Franklin sighed. "I gotta find him some help. Y'all can either brave the cold and come with me, or hang back in the car, and wait for me to come back with somebody willin' to help, preferably before y'all freeze to death."

I took Franklin's cold hand, our fingers intertwined. "I'm not leaving you," I said.

He gazed at me. "Yeah? You sure?"

I nodded. "Positive."

"A'ight, girl. Come here." One arm wrapped around Lamar's waist to support his injured leg, Franklin drew me close, his fingers brushed through my hair. I buried my face in his hard chest, basking in the calming safety of his embrace, and warmth of his body heat. "Ay, Jimmy, you rollin' with us too, homie?"

"Fuck yes, I am," Jimmy replied. "You can't leave your boy Jizzle behind. C'mon homies, let's roll."

Jimmy cautiously took the lead, and we followed behind, the beam of his smart phone's light steering us through the dense blackness. I clung to Franklin's arm for dear life as we made our advance, limbs trembling, my eyes darted to my sand-caked feet every few seconds. I didn't want to end up like Lamar—if I were to fall prey to a deadly predator next, it could cost us everything. Franklin was the strongest man I knew, but he was only person. There was no way he could lug both Lamar and I around. I had to be careful.

We drifted along aimlessly, the sandy, bitter wind lashing against us. There was sand in my eyes, the taste of grit between my teeth, the strong gusts roughened my bare skin, my hair blew wildly in the unforgiving breeze. We pushed and pushed, battling the harsh wind, and through the miserable cold and darkness, a white, dome-shaped tent emerged in the distance. The wrinkly, portable shelter swayed and flopped severely in the breeze, but somehow, it remained planted in the ground, refusing to be swept away.

Adjacent to the tent was a cackling campfire, sparks and smoke billowed into the air, the warm, reddish light cast by the dancing flames shone like a beacon of hope against the desert's black emptiness.

"Do y'all see what I'm seein' right now?" Lamar asked. "Somebody set up shop out here?"

"Yeah, homie," Jimmy replied. "Looks like we're not the only unlucky assholes stranded here, there's gotta be someone inside. Maybe he can help us."

"Yeah, it's worth a shot, homie," Franklin said. "Let's check it out."

We picked up the pace, paving our way toward the tent. As we neared it, the plastic entrance flipped open, and a shadowy figure emerged from within. It was a man, his slender frame hovered over the campfire's scorching flames, illuminating his features. His head and face was cloaked by a thick, black scarf. In his leather, gloved mitts hung a machete, the long, rusty blade drenched with blood. He wiped the sides of the broad, bloodied blade on his pants, smearing crimson red on his rumpled, navy blue cargos.

My knees locked at the sight of the armed stranger, our advance came to a sudden halt. The man glared at us, and took a cautious step closer, his dark, beady eyes protruding from the narrow slit in his full-face head wrap. He silently gaped at us for a long while, his grip tightening around the machete's rubber handle. I huddled behind Franklin, hiding from the man's emotionless, piercing stare. The guy seemed far from friendly…

"I don't know about this, homies," Jimmy muttered, taking refuge behind Franklin as well, his fingers clung to Franklin's broad shoulders. "Maybe we should turn back, before he goes all Jason Voorhees on us. I rather freeze to death than be brutally murdered guys."

"Fuck that," Lamar replied. "This fool ain't no undead serial killer. He's just another stupid fuck stranded in the wilderness, just like us. Let's fold this motherfucker and jack his shit, Frank. He can't stop both of us—"

"Shut the fuck up," Franklin grumbled. "Everybody be cool, a'ight?"

"Ballas?" The stranger called out, his scratchy voice muffled by his scarf.

"Fuck Ballas," Lamar blurted out. "Families for life!"

The stranger's eyes widened, and he yanked down his scarf, revealing a messy mop of brown locks. Despite the long, scraggy beard clinging to his face, thick and patchy, spreading in all directions like a worn, straw broom, he couldn't had been much older than us. His youthful skin was golden, and gleamed with sweat.

"Whaddup ese!" He greeted, his warm, energetic tone held a thick Hispanic accent. He abruptly bent over, and swiped something out of the sand, holding it high for us to see. It was a snake, stiff and headless, the creature's dust-caked, silvery skin was mottled with various shades of black and brown. The creepy crawler must had been killed recently, blood seeped from the gaping end where the head used to be. "You like snake, amigos? Vamos, join me for dinner! I got plenty of food and drink to go around!"

* * *

We huddled close to the campfire for warmth, the soft glowing embers twisted and coiled, pulsating in rhythm with the sweeping flames combating the night's strong wind. My thirst quenched and appetite sated due to the stranger's hospitality, I held my cold, numb hands over the burning kindling, the heat felt amazing.

"Dude, you seriously just saved our asses," Jimmy said, holding his bloodied nose, his gaze was on the stranger sitting across from us. "You have no idea how much of a shitshow this night has been, but you turned things around, homie. You're the fucking realest, dude." He extended a hand to the stranger.

The stranger smiled, and gave Jimmy a fist bump. "No problemo, amigo."

"Do you have any idea where we are?" I asked. "Is there civilization nearby? Like a town, or something?"

"There's a trailer park a mile or two north," the stranger said. "You can try your luck there."

"This some bullshit," Lamar said, his palm probed his wounded ankle. "My little homie Chop is gone, probably got his ass chewed up by coyotes, and I got like, an hour or two longer to live, poisoned and shit. This shit ain't cool, I was supposed to go out like a OG—boosting a fly ass whip in a high-speed chase with the cops, bullets flying, preferably with a fat booty bitch on my dick the whole time—"

"You aren't poisoned, amigo," the stranger said, his gloved fingers swept aside the brown, shaggy curls blocking his eyes. "If you were, we'd be seeing some symptoms by now, yeah? The last hombre I saw suffering from a venomous snake bite was back in Mexico. My cousin Alejando, he puked his guts out, and I mean that literally. His intestines and entrails were all over my mamás kitchen. Poor mamá, she loved cousin Alejando so much, she plunged right into the puke and tried to push his guts back into his body through his mouth, it was the most loving, beautifully disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"That's um…" I fumbled for the right words. "That's horrible."

"I'm sorry 'bout your cousin, dog," Franklin said. "But if momma loved cousin Alejando's ass so much, why the fuck she ain't take him to a hospital?"

"Antivenom is pricey, amigo. Couldn't afford the medicine, had to resort to homemade remedies, none of them worked, obviously."

"Damn, nigga," Lamar shook his head. "That's sad as a motherfucker."

"You got a name, homie?" Franklin asked.

"Sure do," the stranger said. "My name is Diego Miguel Ruiz Francisco de Adriana Pablo la—"

"Jesus homie," Jimmy yelled. "That's way too much information, senor."

"Apologies hombre, call me Diego," he pointed at Jimmy and I. "These two are part of The Families too or..."

"You talkin' 'bout these bitches right here?" Lamar let out an obnoxious laugh. "Nah, they wouldn't last a day in the set."

"Ah, they're under your protection then?" Diego asked.

"Yeah dog, you can say that," Franklin gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I smiled, and crawled into his lap. He locked his arms around me, and pulled me close. "You a'ight?" he whispered, planting a small kiss on my cheek. I answered silently with a nod, and slouched into his warm embrace, my head propped on his shoulder, and back pressed against his warm chest.

"So, what are you doing out here alone, dude?" Jimmy asked, his gaze fixed on Diego. "This is like, the suckiest place in the world to go camping, tied with jungles and swamps."

"I live here hombre," Diego said. "I've been here for a good month, and I don't plan on leaving anytime soon. But I'm no loco outdoor enthusiast, if that's what you think. I'm a man in love with another man, a victim of cruel society, pushed to the edge and forced into hiding—"

"Hold up," Lamar narrowed his eyes. "What you mean you 'in love with another man'? You gay?"

"Who gives a fuck if he's gay?" Franklin asked. "I'm more concerned with what being gay has to do with livin' in the desert. I don't see the connection."

"Love…" Diego sighed. "Love, forbidden love especially, will drive you mad, amigo. It'll drive you loco. You should have seen him, he had the type of face that'll stop you dead in your tracks, perfectly symmetrical, and his smile—oh, it was charming enough to stop wars," his voice grew light, and his face brightened as he spoke of his lover. "Emerald green eyes, with the sexiest pair of prosthetic legs you could find on the market, and an ass like pow!" He punched the air. "His name is Sebastian, and unfortunately, he's a taken man, married to another."

"Yo, why home boy got prosthetic legs?" Lamar asked.

"He lost them both in a terrible skydiving accident," Diego answered. "His equipment malfunctioned, the parachute wouldn't open, it's a miracle he survived."

"No offense," Jimmy said, "but this dude you're swooning over, some married guy with fake legs, if he's the reason you're stuck living out here, then it's time you moved on, buddy. Sometimes, it's just not worth it."

"There's more to the story, ese," Diego continued. "Mi amor and I, we're Vagos, we were born into the thug life and the roots run deep. I was just a pawn for the cause, average and disposable, but Sebastian was special. You know the Madrazo Cartel? He's the leader's son, royal blood, and hired gun."

Franklin's thick brows rose. "You talkin' 'bout 'The Martin Madrazo'? Head of the Mexican narcotic ring?"

"The one and only," Diego replied.

"You trippin', homie," Franklin said. "Martin ain't got a son."

"I assure you, he does, and he's the love of my life. The Madrazo Cartel has gotten stronger, haven't you heard? They've allied with the Vagos, and as a symbol of good faith, Martin offered up his only son, Sebastian, to take the Vagos' leader's daughter's hand in marriage, the unity of the families sealed their agreement, the alliance forever linked, never to be broken, amigo. When word got around that Sebastian was having an affair with a low-life pawn like me, naturally, his father Martin was pissed…"

"So, you're hidin' out from Madrazo too, huh?" Franklin formed a sad smile. "Ain't that a bitch?"

"That's one hell of a coincidence right there," Lamar added. "Shoulda kept your dick in your pants, dog. Y'know, you ain't so bad for a gay ass Vagos motherfucker though, you a cool dude. I hope Madrazo don't clip yo' ass anytime soon."

"Appreciate it, amigo," Diego responded. "The moral of the story is, don't fall in love, ese. Unless you want to end up a broken man like me, empty and depressed, hiding from the world. Hey, since we're all here waiting for our impending demise at the hands of a loco, drug smuggling puto, anybody wanna roll up a joint and get blazed? I got a week's worth of green left in the tent—"

An odd, grating noise filled the air. I cringed, and whirled around, a pair of flashing lights pierced the darkness, stinging my eyes. There was a gray, roofless Jeep approaching, slow and steady, it cruised along, carving a path through the sand toward us. I rose a palm over my forehead to block out the glare of the blinding headlights.

"These friends of yours?" Franklin asked, gazing at Diego.

"Nope, ese," Diego shook his head. "These are no friends of mine."

The vehicle skidded to a stop before us, and an old man climbed out from the back, the driver remained in his seat however, leaving the purring engine running. They wore flannel shirts, rubber boots and straw hats—typical redneck attire, it was only a matter of time before their potbellies busted out of their dirty, tight fitting overalls. Although they were gross looking, I was glad to see them regardless, help had finally arrived!

"Well, well…" The old man muttered, revolver on his hip, his gnarled fingers rubbed his graying, ragged beard as he examined us. His back hunched, and pale, weary face lined heavily with wrinkles, he flashed us a toothless smile. "Butter my butt and call me a biscuit," the old man said, "what are y'all city folk doin' all the way out here?"

Jimmy sprung up into a stance. "Our car broke down. We need help, dude! Can you give us a lift back home? Please, we'll pay you, we have loads of money, we're rich—"

"Hold onto your horses now, money won't be necessary, young fella. Me and my boy here, we're pillars of this here community. If there be folks in need, we'll be happy to oblige, free of charge. There's a small matter of space though." The old man glanced at the Jeep, and then back at us. "Won't be able to fit all of you in there, some of y'all gon' have to stay behind."

"Don't worry about me homes," Diego said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Alright then, I can take the fat one," the old man pointed at Jimmy, his gaze gravitated to Lamar next. "And maybe the fella with the bad leg, you're gon' need to get that looked at ASAP, boy."

"We'll take the girl too!" The husky, red-headed driver yelled, his crooked mouth curved into a smile. Jeez, was he ugly, his face heavily freckled, spotted with pimples and blisters, his thin brows were spaced so painfully far across his short forehead, he appeared deformed. My lip curled, the dude was really hard to look at.

I stood, and Franklin rose with me, our fingers intertwined. The red head's happy expression twisted into a deep grimace at the sight of Franklin. "That one—he can't come. Too big, ain't got no more room for your kind, one is more than enough."

"What?" Franklin asked. "The fuck you mean by 'your kind'? You mean the lovin' kind, right?"

The red head's dirty, scarred lips curved into a twisted smirk. "Naw, I mean the ape kind."

Franklin glared at him. "You a funny little inbred motherfucker, ain't you?"

"Yes siree, I am. I'll have you know I'm a stand-up comedian, folks from all 'round the great backwoods of America venture down here just to see yours truly. Why don't you stop by one of our shindigs sometime? We might be able to use a circus monkey like yourself in one of our performances. I'm sure it'll be a deal of a lifetime for ya, I know money is tight for you urban folk."

"Nah, I'm good," Franklin formed a tight smile. "Humor ain't really your strong suit. Stick to eatin' possums, shootin' meth and fucking your cousins, dumb motherfucker like you ain't really cut out for much else—"

"He ain't mean no disrespect," the old man's voice lowered to a whisper. "Y'all oughta excuse my boy Roger, the porch lights on, but ain't nobody home, if you catch my drift. Now even though my son is dumber than a doornail, he's got a point." He gazed at me. "Your boyfriend ain't the smallest pickle in the barrel, missy. It's either him that stays, or the young fat fella instead. Who's it gon' be?"

Jimmy tugged at Franklin's sleeve for his attention. "F-Dog, you're my main homie for life and all, but honestly, it'd be a huge waste if they took you instead of me. Look at what you did to my nose dude, I'm bleeding here, you owe me homie! And I have a lot to live for, you know? Family, and friends, people that legitimately care about me, and love me. You have like, nobody, except my dad and Uncle T, but they're both batshit crazy, so they don't count." Jimmy feigned a smile, and patted Franklin's tense shoulder. "You're black, underprivileged, super irritable, probably bipolar, and everyone in your life has abandoned you. If you really think about it, you kinda don't have much to live for anyway, no offense. So yeah, I'm glad that's settled. Good talk, homie."

Jimmy casually turned for the Jeep, and climbed into the back. Franklin swallowed, his gaze grew distant, and for a split second, the pain he had always so expertly suppressed, had surfaced from deep inside him. His hurt was visible in his brown, stricken eyes for only a fleeting moment, before it was blinked away and buried inside yet again, only to be replaced by anger.

"Motherfucker…" Franklin grumbled under his breath, fists clenched. He stormed away, and helped Lamar to his feet, guiding him to the car.

It was the routine course of action for him, systematic almost, to shield the hurt and sadness with anger. That way, others would perceive him as strong, resilient, he had to keep his defenses up, he needed to have thick skin after everything he's been through. He wouldn't had lasted long in this terrible world otherwise. It was hard to imagine, but at some point in the past, long before life's misfortunes had hardened him, he was probably so kindhearted, innocent and sweet-tempered, eyes bright and ready to take on the world.

An overall weighted feeling gripped me, my throat ached. He had endured too much too young, and it wasn't fair, he deserved so much better than this. He was strongest person I knew physically, but on the inside, his strength continuously wavered, no one else cared to notice, and I hated it. I hated everything.

"I oughta take a look at our tires before we head on out," the old man said. "I coulda swore some of 'em wasn't soundin' too good on the way here, be a real shame if we broke down while on the road…" He limped away, disappearing behind the Jeep.

Once Lamar was safely strapped in the vehicle, Franklin returned to me. "You ready to go?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I'm not leaving you."

He responded with a quick snort. "Quit playin', girl. C'mon, get that ass movin'."

Franklin took my hand and spun around for the Jeep, but I refused to move, my feet rooted in the ground. With all the strength I could muster, I jerked his muscled body back in, and clung to him, my fists tightened around his shirt. "Frank, I'm not…" I sniffed, my voice choked with emotion. "I-I'm not leaving you."

Franklin glanced at me, our eyes locked, his brown gaze softened. "Trace…" He sighed, and pulled me aside, behind the dome-shaped tent and away from prying eyes. His broad palm caressed my cheek, his thumb wiped away the heavy tears brimming on my lashes. "Don't cry over me, I can't take that shit. Just go and find help, a'ight? I'll be fine. I ain't worth sheddin' tears over, save 'em…"

"No, stop it Frank, please, just stop." I cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. "I can't leave you. Why can't you see that I want to help you, to fix you? I care about you so much." I stood on the tip of my toes, and threw my arms around his neck. The world had begun to blur, tears spilled from my eyes. "T-tell me how you feel Franklin, so I can help you. How do I break down your walls? I want you uncovered, all of you—tell me every terrible thought that's crossed your mind, show me the darkest parts of you and I promise I'll still care, that I won't leave. I don't want you to hurt anymore…"

Franklin swallowed hard, his warm breath quaked with emotion, his mouth hovering over mine. He offered me his pinky, and I accepted it, eager to hear his truth, my finger quickly coiled around his.

"I know you care," he mumbled. "I care 'bout you too. Most of the time, I feel like this piece of shit world is conspirin' against me. Everythin' is so fucked, and my anger just builds and builds on top of itself. I spent most of my life walkin' on eggshells, teetering on the edge, ready to snap. And then I found you…"

Franklin paused, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "There ain't no pain when we're together," he continued. "No terrible thoughts, no darkness, no walls—I don't hate myself when you're with me, I don't feel empty or broken." He sniffed, and feigned a smile. "Nah, when I'm with you, everythin' feels right. You keep me calm, grounded, you make me feel sane. All the good I see in you, it reminds me that this world ain't so fuckin' bad, like there just might be a shred hope for us."

He pressed his forehead to mine, our noses brushed. I took in a deep breath, his woodsy cologne played on my nostrils, intermingling with the masculine aroma of his sweat—crap, why did his scent have to be so distracting? He always smelled so wonderful. "Thank you, baby," Franklin said. "For teachin' me how to feel again, it happened so fast, you make it real easy to trust you."

"Frank," I whimpered, rubbing at my hot, gummy eyelids. "Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye? I told you I was staying. I'm clingy, okay? I'm a romantic, and I have abandonment issues, deal with it."

"N-nah, this ain't a goodbye, not forever anyway. It's only temporary, a'ight?" Franklin spoke through trembling lips, his eyes glistening and shoulders drooped. "Damn, why you gotta make this so hard? It ain't the end of the world, we'll see each other again, a'ight? You know I hate that melodramatic romantic shit, but it makes me feel kinda special too, so maybe I don't hate it all that much, I dunno. I got a lot of conflictin' emotions right now, I'm fuckin' confused." He buried his face in my neck, nuzzling me playfully. I cackled, his ticklish beard stubble always forced a laugh out of me. "For real though, I like your type of clingy, girl. I could chill with you forever and ever—"

"Gosh darn it, Roger!" The old man's yell echoed into the air. "Our tires are punctured to hell, I told ya to check 'em before we left the trailer park, why don't ya ever listen to your poppa, boy? I reckon it'll take me a good ten minutes or so to get these pesky holes all patched up. Luckily, I got just the tools for the job. Then we'll be A-OK to move on out."

"Jesus, we're never gonna get out of this shitty desert!" Jimmy shouted. "This is a like a nightmare that never ends!"

"Looks like we have more time to spend together," I feigned a smile at Franklin.

"Yeah," he drew me into a hug. "Not much longer though. Can you imagine all the mushy shit we could do if we had more time to spare?"

"Well, you could talk to me about your feelings, and there'll be no one to interrupt us," I smiled at the thought of it. "And we could have tickle fights and have pillow fights, and you could give me piggy-back rides. We could watch romantic movies and cuddle, and eat all the food we want, take naps and repeat all of it over again until we get old, grumpy and fat. And once we get old, we can sit on the porch in our rocking chairs and watch the world go by together."

"Uh-huh," he grinned. "That sounds cool to me, if only time would stop just for us though. No more bullshit responsibilities, no more motherfuckers randomly tryna clip us. You could have your happily ever after, just like in the movies, girl. Not a worry in the world, all rainbows and sunshine, cuddles all day, makin' love all night." He formed a warm smile. "You deserve that sweetie, somebody who'll put you first, that'll treat you right, like the princess you are."

I gazed into his eyes, his sweetness alone left me breathless. Franklin had so many layers, but I adored exploring the depths of his wounded soul. When his walls came tumbling down, he was gorgeous, the beauty was in the effort it took to breach his defenses, and the rarity of how often I actually succeeded in doing so. It was a rewarding experience to witness him like this, soft and vulnerable.

My mouth watered. The beautiful man was so close. I skimmed a finger over his jawline, his bone structure so strikingly chiseled and symmetrical. It was hard to believe I was the girl lucky enough to be the center of his attention, his brown, studious gaze stared deep into mine, eyes smoldering with intensity.

Our eye contact locked and steady, the world began to melt away. I wanted him. I needed him. He could've stolen a kiss multiple times tonight, but he knew I was nervous. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but I couldn't bear to wait any longer.

Swept away by my desire, I pecked the corner of his mouth. "Kiss me goodbye," I demanded, my chest pressed against his, I could feel his thumping heartbeat. "Kiss me until I forget how much my life sucks."

"You're so fuckin' dramatic," he teased with a grin.

"I'm serious," I punched his broad shoulder. "If I have to leave you, give me something to remember until we're together again, Frank. I want you, I want this. Take me seriously."

"A'ight," his laughter faded, and his tone grew serious. "I'll give you some love, girl. I can handle the slobbin', but just no bitin', a'ight? Take it slow, follow me."

Franklin leaned in, and gave me exactly what I asked for. He tangled his hand in my hair, and the other cupped my jaw, gradually, our lips met in a clinging kiss. It was innocent and featherlike, his full lips warm and soft. I melted into the sweet kiss, my thoughts ceased, every fear and worry faded into nothingness. A pleased murmur escaped me, my stomach fluttering. A peculiar pang erupted in my chest, it ached and swelled, my heart raced. I was drunk on endorphins and I fell so very much in love with the sensations sweeping over me.

I was falling for him, head over heels and there was no turning back. It was a foolish, dangerous thing, to grow so desperately attached to someone in such a short time. I was eager to hand a stranger my heart on a platter, he could easily devour my love, chew on it and spit it out, but there was no resisting him. I was entranced by the profound depth of his wounded soul, and his rugged good looks, there was no fighting it.

His strong hands seized my waist, and very slowly, his touch smoothed down my sides to my hips. He squeezed, and shamelessly, his calloused fingers groped my behind and crumpled my skirt, pinning me against his hard body.

I gasped, my face burned with heat, knees trembling. My arms stiffened around his strong, thick neck, a tight moan escaped my lips as our lingering kiss deepened. It was no surprise he used our tender moment as an opportunity to cop a feel of my ass. I had a feeling if we ever became more intimately involved, my butt cheeks were gonna have a real tough time.

Franklin pulled away just slightly to catch his breath. I inhaled and exhaled deeply for much needed oxygen, a nervous giggle escaped me. I was doing okay so far, I hadn't drooled on him yet, that was a plus. A devilish smirk gracing his handsome face, he kissed me again, harder, his full lips caressed mine with hot, passionate strokes, the refreshing peppermint taste of lip balm being traded between our warm, interweaving breaths.

His mouth enveloped my bottom lip, and he nibbled and sucked, teasing my skin with just the right amount of pressure. The delightful mixture of pleasure and pain was enough to make my quaking knees buckle, but his strong grip on my hips kept me upright.

He released my bruised lip after a moment, and pressed his bristled cheek against mine, his tongue flicked, and moistened my earlobe playfully. "Frank, stop it," I smiled, cowering away from his ticklish touch, turning my back to him.

"Where you goin', girl?" Franklin asked, his voice husky. He towered over me from behind, his arms locked around my waist, and he drew me back in, our bodies molded together. I flushed, I could feel the beautifully chiseled contour of his muscled stomach through his shirt, his broad chest brushed against me with every deep breath he drew.

He swept my hair aside, and with my neck exposed, his soft lips glided over my sensitive skin. He planted a slow trail of kisses down the back of my neck, each brush of his lips harder, and more urgent than the last. His hand dipped under my skirt, and slipped between my legs, fondling my inner thighs. I shuddered, trapped in his strong embrace, my head swimming, my insides were boiling.

His breathing accelerated, his chest rising and falling heavily. I wasn't the only one growing uncomfortably aroused, his gorgeous brown complexion flustered, skin glistening with sweat. He grinded on me in a rough, tortuously slow rhythm, his thick, bulging shaft pressed and brushed against me through the fabric confides of his joggers, over and over. I felt every slight bump and push his powerful body made against mine. I squirmed, hushed moans slipped through my clenched teeth and swollen lips. Jeez, he was bigger than I imagined…

Surprisingly, his dry humping was a great way to combat the cold, my body was on fire, but we were in the middle of friggin' nowhere and we didn't have much privacy. The thought of asking him to stop crossed my mind quite a few times, but I wanted to enjoy what little time we had left together. If he preferred to poke and prod my booty with his love muscles until we were forced to part, then I was fine with it. It actually felt kinda good, and it probably felt ten times better for him.

"Frank?" I whimpered. "Does it feel good?"

" _You feel good_ ," he spoke slow, and lazily, his voice dragging. "You feel real good. You got a nice ass, baby. The things I would do to you—fuck, I want you."

"H-hey, slow down, big boy," I teased. "You could at least buy me dinner first."

Franklin's muscles tensed, his intimate caresses came to a sudden halt. He released me, and took a step back. "Fuck," he frowned. "I'm over here molestin' yo' ass, grindin' on you like you're some random bitch at a nightclub. My bad, Trace. You deserve better than that shit. I don't know what the fuck I was thinkin'."

I turned to face him. "It's fine, Frank."

"Nah, that shit ain't cool." He shook his head. "You ain't an object I can use whenever I wanna bust a nut, and I shouldn't be treatin' you like one. You asked me to kiss you, I took it too far. I apologize." He folded his large arms over his chest, his sight lowered to his feet. "Good things come to people who wait, but patience ain't really my forte, you feel me? It doesn't help that I'm selfish as fuck. Greed and impulsiveness don't mix too fuckin' well."

I frowned. "Frank, you're not selfish—"

"Alrighty boys, we're back in business!" The old man's voice pierced the air. "Let's roll out!"

"There's your ride, Trace," Franklin said, his voice deadpan. "Better move that narrow ass, girl, before they leave you."

I shook my head. It was so hard to walk away, to leave him all on his own, especially while he was brooding. "B-but—"

"Go," he demanded, his glare cold and flinty. "Or I'll throw yo' stubborn ass in that Jeep myself. One way or another, you're leavin'."

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you, Frank."

"It's cool, I'll be fine. Come back for me, a'ight?" He sunk down into the cold sand, his elbows propped on his knees, a grimace lingered on his face. "I'll wait for you right here."

"But I think you need me here—"

"Trace, I don't need you," he snapped. "I don't need a motherfuckin' thing. Not from you, or anybody else."

"Really?" I sighed. "Not this again."

"I ain't playin' girl," his tone deepened. "For real, I'm tired of babysittin' yo' needy ass, a'ight? The only thing I need right now is for you to go. Bounce, you're smotherin' me, it's suffocatin', I can't fuckin' breathe."

"But I-I thought you liked my type of clingy," I fumbled, my tone uncertain.

"I don't, it's annoyin'. The fact that you're still standin' here, tryna stay cooped up in the middle of the damn desert with me like you ain't got no fuckin' sense— it annoys me to no fuckin' end. It's hard enough takin' care of myself out here, you feel me? I need a break, I'm gettin' tired of watchin' after yo' baby ass, I can't take it no more. I got my own damn problems."

My stomach dropped. "Y-you don't mean any of that—"

A stiff, ugly laugh escaped him. "Fuck you," he spat.

Eyes wide and watering, I watched him, my mouth hung open as I struggled to find my voice. There was a painful tightness in my throat, my chest ached. I knew he wanted me to be safe, but he didn't have to be such an asshole about it. He didn't have to be so cruel.

"Frank…" I murmured, my voice tearful. "I just… I want you. You said I was special, remember? That you cared about me? Don't you want me too? You made a pinky promise—"

"For real? Who gives a fuck?" Franklin made a quick, disgusted snort. "I knew you were delusional, but damn, its borderin' on stupidity now. You need to grow the fuck up, you ain't finna last long in this world thinkin' like that. The only reason I'm out here fuckin' 'round with you in the first place is because of your dad, I didn't want none of this shit. I was doin' just fine without you, I don't need yo' clingy ass, I don't need any-fucking-body." He waved a hand at me dismissively. "Why you still standin' here? Get the fuck on already—"

"Screw you!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, my vision swarmed with red. I choked down my tears, and tensed my muscles to stop myself from trembling. "You can't say I didn't try to help you. You're on your own now, congratulations, prick. Have fun moping around and wallowing in your own self-pity. I hope the loneliness eats away at you until there's nothing fucking left, that's what you fucking deserve. You're so pathetic!" I pursed my lips, and spat a glob of spit at him. "Eat shit and die, scumbag."

I stormed away from him, kicking my feet through the sand, my hands fisted so tight, my fingernails cut into my palms.

Thankfully the Jeep was still parked before the tent, the rednecks hadn't left me yet. I brushed by Diego, who was still sitting by the firepit, and forged for the car. It was a tight fit, but I managed to climb inside and squeeze into the leather back seat between Jimmy and Lamar. It reeked of alcohol in here, the vehicle's floor was littered with empty beer bottles.

"Everything cool, white girl?" Lamar gazed at me.

"What happened, Tracey?" Jimmy asked. "You and F-Dog having another lover's quarrel? What's it about this time?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I retorted, my sight shifted to the ugly, deformed driver. "Step on it, please. I am so ready to go home."

"You heard the lady, Roger," the old man said, lounging in the front passenger seat. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Okey-dokey." Roger stepped on the gas, and we pulled off. Our advance slow and steady, I watched the camp fade away in the distance, disappearing into the darkness.

I couldn't wrap my head around Franklin's harsh words. He couldn't had meant what he said, I refused to believe it. I knew the feelings we had for one another were real, I wasn't crazy. He was pushing me away like always, and I had no idea why this time around, the possibilities were endless. Franklin was a complicated man, with multiple walls and cryptic layers, his thoughts and feelings unstable and erratic. He was hard to figure out.

It was so emotionally taxing, continuously being pushed and pulled in different directions. One second he was sweet, loving and affectionate, and the next, he was irritable, bitter and cruel. Why did he have to make things so difficult? Why did he have to make it so hard to get close to him?

Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. I couldn't force him to reciprocate the affection I showed him. Maybe some broken hearts just couldn't be mended, no matter how hard you tried to fit the pieces back together, some were shattered beyond repair. Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

Now that Diego's camp was long gone behind us, I turned, and caught Roger leering at me through the windshield mirror. He licked his crooked lips, his fevered blue glare gave me the creeps.

"You like the dark meat, don't cha?" he asked, his voice deep and menacing.

My muscles tensed. "Excuse me?" I glanced at Lamar. He rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed by the racist remark.

"You heard my boy," the old man muttered. "You oughta stay away from those apes, young lady. They haven't got the sense god gave a rooster. I reckon their blood is tainted. You don't want to contract the AIDS, now do ya?"

Roger glanced at Lamar. "What in tarnation do ya see in big ol' lips like those anyhow?"

"There's only one darn thing lips that big are good for," the old man said. "Grillin', and eatin'—"

"What?" Lamar winced. "The fuck you just say, fool?"

"You heard me, boy," the old man retorted. "We're gonna eat your lips!"

"Damn right, pa." Roger nodded in agreement. "I can't wait to cook me up some good ol' monkey stew."

"Y'all crazy motherfuckers ain't gonna eat shit!" Lamar shouted. "Stop the motherfuckin' car—"

"Whew, did we get lucky tonight, or what, pa?" Roger continued. "These city folk look awfully tasty, can't wait to get back and chop 'em up." He gazed at Jimmy. "That fat one alone got enough meat to feed all the boys and gals three times over!"

"W-what?" Jimmy stammered, his face reddening. "Please tell me this is really bad joke…"

"This ain't no joke, boy," Roger snickered, and flattened the gas pedal. Tires smoking, the speedometer nudged to seventy, and the Jeep shot forward, rocking and jerking roughly along the rocky, desert ground. "Y'all folk are dead meat, we're gon' chop ya into several slices and serve ya up real good. No hard feelings, our babies gotsta eat somehow."

"Awh, damn," Lamar whimpered, clutching his injured leg. "I can't die like this man, not like this…"

"You people are nuts!" I yelled. "You're driving like a maniac! Stop the car—"

"Now, now, don't worry that pretty little head of yours, girlie," the old man smirked. "Sure, we gon' eat your friends, but we ain't gon' hurt cha."

"We sure will bed ya though," Roger snorted, his teeth brown and rotting.

I cringed, my head raced, pounding against my chest. These people were insane!

"Awh hell nah," Lamar grimaced. "Y'all hick motherfuckers are some sick ass fiends—"

The old man mouth twisting into a nasty sneer, he whipped out his silver revolver, and lunged at Lamar, pressing the steel barrel against his forehead. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, boy," the old man threatened.

Blood drained from my face as I gaped at the gun, a weight pressed against my chest, robbing me of breath.

Crap, this night just kept getting worse and worse…

* * *

 **Yay! Another chapter down, I hope it was worth the wait! Please leave a review of what you thought about the chapter, I can't express how much I appreciate your support and feedback, it means the world to me, and inspires me to keep working on future updates, despite how busy I am with school. Thank you so much for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Hopefully it hasn't been too long since my last update lol. This next chapter is a special one, it's in Franklin's point of view. (Interesting right lol?) It's short, but I had to do it for the sake of storytelling. I figured it'd be nice to finally get in his head, so you know, I hope you guys enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Franklin**

"You're so pathetic!" Tracey coughed up a glob of spit, and spat at me, her saliva collided with my cheek. I shuddered, damn that's nasty. "Eat shit and die, scumbag!" She stormed off, sandals clapping against her sand-caked feet as she disappeared around the tent.

Fuck, it hurt to watch her go, my muscles tensed, my chest tightening. I was tempted to run after her, to tell her I fucked up, that I was sorry—I wanted to beg her to stay with me, but I knew better. I had stop being so fucking selfish.

Tracey was fragile. She didn't want to admit it, but I knew she was suffering out here. The Grand Senora desert was no fucking joke, and she couldn't handle herself like I could. She deserved better than this shit, she deserved to be home, safe and sound, and I wasn't gonna let anything get in the way of that, no matter how bad I wanted to keep her cute ass around.

Damn, I was missing her already. The way that booty was bouncing as she stomped away… goddamn, baby girl was fine. I needed more of that ass in my life. Fuck, maybe I shoulda held back on all the bumping and grinding, I was horny as a motherfucker. Just my fucking luck too, because I was all by myself now, turned on in the middle of the fucking desert. Damn, ain't this about a bitch?

I shivered, the bitter cold licked my face, the wind's icy tendrils crept under my clothes, a wave of goosebumps washed over my skin. I hugged my arms close to my chest. I couldn't stop the shivering. It was cold as a motherfucker out here, I could barely feel a thing, the frigid weather had chilled my limbs into a stiff, clumsy numbness. Unable to move my stiff joints due to the biting cold, my ass remained planted in the sand, lips cracked and teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Man, I was tired. I was losing track of time, drifting in and out of consciousness. How fucking long have I been out here? Felt like hours. It was so quiet; the dead silence was killing me. Were deserts always this quiet? Or were my ears just too numb to hear anything? Wait, could ears get too numb to hear shit? Was that even a thing? Nah, it couldn't be—

The sensation of hot, rancid breath on my face disrupted my train of thought. I peeled my eyes open. Chop sat before me, panting heavily, his head cocked to the side in curiosity, his beady brown stare fixed on me.

"C-Chop?" I stammered, my jaw was so stiff, pronouncing my words was a struggle. I blinked the sand from my sore eyes, and gaped at the stocky, four-legged creature, his sleek, black fur flaked with sand.

We had so many rabid ass mutts chasing after us, I thought they'd tear the meat off little homie's ass for sure. But he was all good, there wasn't a single scar on 'em, his muzzle and lips were coated with dried up blood. Either I was seeing shit, or Chop really did survive a scrap with a bunch of a wild fucking hounds, apparently without a scratch too. Little homie was a mean motherfucker for sure. He even managed to sniff my ass out afterwards. I smiled weakly. Goddamn, Chop was the real MVP of the squad.

Chop nudged my shoulder with his large head, his wet nose brushed my neck. He wanted some love and affection. I knew little homie like the back of my hand after all, we got real close over short course of time he's been living with me. For a dog, he was a real independent motherfucker, but everybody needed some TLC every now and then. Problem was, I still couldn't move a fucking muscle.

Jimmy—that whiny, bitch ass motherfucker… this shit was all his fault. If only he kept fat ass butterfingers away from my whip, I wouldn't be a second away from needing to get my limbs amputated. If I didn't have frostbite, or gangrene yet, I'd be real fucking surprised. Everything was numb. I felt just as dead on the outside as I was inside. Funny how fast shit changes for the worse.

Not like I had shit to live for anyway. There ain't nobody waiting for me, there wasn't a goddamn thing to come home to. Everybody hated my fucking guts. Jimmy was right, everybody I ever cared about disappeared in the end, they all abandoned me. What was the point of holding on when you didn't have a damn thing worth fighting for? All I had was Chop, and the only reason he was still hanging around my temperamental ass was because he didn't know any damn better.

Tracey didn't know it, but I did her a favor pushing her away. It was for the best, I wasn't no good for her, I was fucked up. Hopefully she could see it now, that there was something wrong with me. All I was capable of feeling was anger and pain, sometimes emptiness on a good day. I didn't know shit about happiness or romance, I didn't know a damn thing about love—shit, I didn't even love myself, how the fuck was I gonna learn to love someone else?

Man, I was more depressed than I thought. I should see a doctor, but I fucking hate doctors, Tanisha left me for one. Fuck, why did she hate me so much? Whatever, I didn't give a shit, I was better off without her trifling ass. No bitch could hurt me if my shitty temper, destructive personality and tendency to self-sabotage my relationships kept them away. I'll be single until the day I die. That way, no one could screw me over but myself.

Damn, I was thinking too much. I had to bury the negative thoughts, I needed a distraction. Diego still had the fire going, although muffled, the flames cackled in the distance. I needed the warmth. My legs weren't working, but I could probably crawl if I tried real hard.

But I didn't wanna try anymore. I sighed heavily, shoulders drooped. My lungs were burning, it was hard to breathe. I was getting nauseous too, and the fatigue wouldn't let up. Maybe a little nap wouldn't be so bad, I needed to make time for more of those anyway, sleeping ain't never hurt nobody. I heard power naps were good for the body and mind. Chances were, if I slept now, I'd never wake back up.

 _Oh fuckin' well_.

I closed my heavy eyes. Chop barked, and barked in my ear, his brown weighty paws slapped and pushed on me. I could barely feel it though. Little homie's deep, frantic yapping slowly lost its power overtime as I dozed off.

* * *

Hot, stinking ass breath and the wet brush of a giant tongue against my cheek jerked me back to reality. Fuck, shoulda known dying wasn't gonna be that easy. I cringed, opening my eyes. It was Chop again, his bulky frame hovered over me as I laid on my back, my head propped on a soft, feathery fabric—could that be a pillow?

There was a plush blanket wrapped around me, the warmth soothed my dry skin, the desert's biting cold had faded away. There was a musty, smoky odor lingering in the air, it smelled like weed. Where the fuck was I? I sure as hell wasn't gonna find out with Chop's big ass block head clogging my view. "Fall back, Chop," I said, mustering the strength to reach out and push him aside.

I found myself within a well-lit tent, a short, white canvas roof hung overhead, the flimsy, cloth sides and edges of the cramped shelter rippled in the gusting wind outside.

A scratchy voice called out to me, "Frank?"

I glanced in the direction of familiar voice. Diego sat across from me, his long machete sheathed to his waist, and ashtray in his lap. Trapped between his bearded lips was a lit blunt, thick smoke swirled and circulated through the narrow space. There was an antique oil lantern hanging in his grasp, brightening the tent.

"You finally awake, ese?" he asked.

"What's good, homie?" I slowly sat up, and clenched my forehead. My skull was pulsating like a motherfucker. "Shit, I'm groggy as fuck, dog. I got the meanest fuckin' headache…"

"I wasn't sure you'd wake up, amigo. You've been out for a good hour." Smirking and eyes bloodshot, he passed me the blunt. "Take a hit of this green, amigo. This shit will make it all better."

"Awh shit, don't mind if I do, homie." I pressed the joint to my lips, and sucked the smoke deep into my lungs. I held it there for a long while, trapped in my chest, I was craving the high, I needed that shit real bad. Finally, I exhaled, the fumes poured out through my flaring nostrils, I watched it circle and ebb into the air. "Damn," I nodded in approval, my muscles loosening. I slouched back, returning my head to the pillow. "That's some good shit."

"Enjoy it amigo," he slid the ashtray over to me. "I'm high enough, and you look like you need it."

"Appreciate it, homie." Staring blankly at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, I took another hit. Man, to be stranded in the desert with no guarantee of ever getting back to civilization, I was feeling good as a motherfucker. Everything was cool, and relaxed, I wasn't lonely and depressed at all, kinda like I didn't purposely try to freeze to death only an hour ago. Nah, all that shit was in the past. Life was good, real good.

Diego studied me as I smoked, his fingers stroked through his stringy beard. "You doin' alright, ese?"

"I'm feelin' real good, dog," I said lazily, stroking Chop's head as he laid beside me. "I'm doin' just fuckin' fine. Ay, you sure I ain't dead, homie? 'Cause the last thing I remember is bein' real numb and woozy, I felt like I was dyin'. And now I ain't dyin', unless I died already—yo, you sure you don't wanna take a hit of this shit?"

"It's all yours, amigo," Diego smiled. "Trust me, you're alive, and after that fight you had with your woman, it's safe to say, you need the blow much more than I do."

I frowned. "Damn, you heard all that shit, huh?"

"Every bit of it, unfortunately. Now I don't mean to pry, ese, but if you always treat your women like that, it might be time to seek therapy."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Who the fuck are you to judge me, desert dwellin' motherfucker? I appreciate you helpin' me out and shit, but you need to mind your fuckin' business, dog. You don't know me like that."

"Whoa, relax ese!" His hands shot up in surrender. "Why so defensive? I'm just trying to help."

"You bein' too damn helpful, homie. Tracey ain't even my girl, a'ight? You oughta get yo' facts straight before you start stickin' your nose where it don't fuckin' belong, man."

"She isn't your woman?" He blinked. "But you two fight like cats and dogs, spitting venom at one another like snakes—almost reminds me of my mamá and papá. They were desperately in love, but couldn't stand each other. Poor papá, I lost count of all the times I witnessed my mamá pull a knife on him in our very own kitchen."

"Damn," I shook my head. "That love-hate relationship bullshit don't sound too healthy, bro."

"Not in the slightest, amigo. The girl you were arguing with, Tracey is her name, yeah? You in love with her?"

I sighed. I had a feeling this dude wasn't gonna stop with the annoying questions anytime soon, he was real desperate for some conversation. I didn't blame him, it had to be real lonely out here, living day after day in the middle of nowhere. I guess I owed him a good time, after all the shit he did for me and the others. He seemed genuine, a little nosy though, but all in all, the fool wasn't that bad.

We were stuck together, I might as well try to get along with him.

"Nah, I ain't in love with her," I took another long pull of the blunt before continuing. "At least, I don't think it's love, we haven't known each other long, you feel me? But I'm feelin' her, man. I'm feelin' her heavy, homie. She's stubborn as shit, but she gets me. She understands me real well."

"It's rare to find someone you really click with, amigo."

"Fo' sho'. There's just somethin' 'bout this girl, man, and honestly, it irks the shit outta me, 'cause whenever she's around, I ain't myself. I turn into a completely different nigga."

"What do you mean, ese?"

"I get all soft and shit, giddy as a motherfucker, man," I snickered to myself. "When she looks at me, her eyes get real big, sparklin' and shit—she looks at me like I'm her everythin'," I smiled at the thought of her bright blue eyes. "It's like I'm her entire fuckin' world, homie. It's a nice change of pace from the constant hard glares, and fake smiles I'm so used to dealin' with, you feel me? She's a cool girl, man. Nobody looks at me the way she does, it makes a nigga feel real special."

"I hope the feelings are mutual, homes. She didn't seem to happy when she left…"

"Nah, she was angry as a motherfucker," I frowned. "Man, I fucked up real bad, homie. I said a lot of shit I shouldn't have. It is what it is, I guess. I don't regret that shit, her stubborn ass wouldn't had got in that Jeep otherwise."

"You were trying to protect your woman, you wanted her to be safe, I get it, ese. Your methods might be harsh, brutally harsh, and a little loco too, but very effective. You know…" Seemingly immersed in deep thought, Diego's words trailed off. He grew quiet, his beady brown eyes stared at me with silent, scrutinizing attention. The prolonged staring was a little weird, but I was too busy enjoyin' the high to give a fuck. "You know, ese," he said, finally breaking the awkward silence. "I used to be just like you."

"Yeah?" I asked, my brows raised. "I ain't too sure 'bout that, homie. You used to roll with the Vagos, right?"

"I did. Look amigo, I'm not your enemy, I got no beef with the CGF, ese. Sure, your people have their problems, but all pride aside, there's a lot of love and loyalty between The Families. If only the Vagos and the Ballas could pull their heads out of their asses, there's a lot to be learned from your crew." He smiled. "And the way you carry yourself, it's easy to tell you're a man who can handle himself. You don't take shit from anyone. I respect that, homes."

"Honestly dog, I don't really be rollin' with the CGF no more," I said. "I mean, the love and loyalty is still there, but I made it out of the slums, homie. We both did, whether it's in the motherfuckin' desert or up in Vinewood Hills, we both made it out alive."

"I guess we did, ese. But how much longer do we have before karma comes 'round and bites us in the ass?"

"What you mean, man?"

"What's done in the dark will be brought to the light, amigo. It might take months, years, but you can bet your ass, ese—it'll come."

Diego set the oil lamp aside and drew his bloodstained machete from its leather holster on his waist. He dipped a hand into his blue cargo pocket next, and fished out a small, dirty towel. "I used to lie, cheat and steal," he said as he began to clean the sharp blade with the cloth. "I murdered just about every puto who came at me sideways. I had a real chip on my shoulder, ese. I realized the world was a real bad place at a young age, it had wronged me so many times. I wanted it to burn, I wanted everyone else to suffer as I did. And then I met Sebastian."

"Uh-huh," I rolled my eyes. "I know exactly how this sappy ass story goes. Let me guess, he changed you for the better, huh?"

"For the better?" He shook his head. "Not entirely, amigo. Once upon a time, I was loco, ese. I used to look death straight into the eye and smile, yet here I am, hiding from it. He made me soft, he made me into a coward."

"I dunno, homie. I ain't really the type to let no motherfuckin' cat run me up a tree neither, but if I were in your position, I woulda considered it. Madrazo ain't no fuckin' joke, dog. Yo' ass woulda been grass if you stayed in LS."

"Yeah, I'd be dead, and without me, you and your friends would be frozen corpses in the sand," he feigned a smile. "Maybe it's all a part of God's plan, hmm? There just might be more for me to do, besides wasting away in the dust, waiting to die. I thought it was what I deserved, I've killed over a hundred men, ese. Their broken faces are still fresh in my mind, I see them every time I close my eyes. The only reason I'm still carrying on? I know deep down that no one would be moved by my demise, amigo. I'd be more alone in death than in life."

I grimaced. "Man, this is… this shit is weighin' me down, dog. You a depressin' ass motherfucker, man. You the one who needs therapy. You might be able to find yourself a hillbilly therapist or some shit if you're lucky, over in Grapeseed or Sandy Shores maybe."

"Trust me, we both need therapy, and I'd argue that you need it much more than I do."

"Nah, I'm good, homie. I ain't comtemplatin' suicide, that's all you."

"Tell me, you were freezing outside earlier, yeah? But there was fire, there was shelter literally right beside you. All it took was a few steps, and you would had been just fine. Why didn't you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I couldn't feel my fuckin' legs, that's why."

"I'm a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them, homes." He stood, and gazed down on me, a condescending smile tugged at his chapped lips. "You're in denial, and that's fine. I used to be too, until I came out here. Living like this, in complete solitude, you learn a lot yourself. Constant silence makes room for self-reflection, ese."

I let out a snort of dismissive laughter. "I'm good, a'ight? And let's say, hypothetically, if I actually was tryna put an end to all this bitch ass shit, what the fuck would it matter to you, ese? We've only known each other for what, like an hour or two?"

"The truth is, when I look at you, amigo, I see myself. We're victims of society, ese. Poverty and outside influences stripped us of our innocence, we lost ourselves in the struggle to survive—became hardened and ruthless, our inner warmth turned to ice, our skin thickened with every scar we were forced to endure. We've convinced ourselves that everyone is an enemy, and those who try to befriend us are only waiting for us to let down our guard, just so they can stab us in the back. But in reality, that's far from the truth, ese."

He knelt before me, and drew close, his gloved hand touched my shoulder. "You're a good man, but your cojones, they're too hard, amigo. And blue balls, they're no good. You need to find some way to release the tension and frustration inside you. I can help—"

"What?" I shifted away from him. "You ain't comin' onto me or somethin', are you? I know it's kinda cozy in here, but I ain't into that freaky gay shit, dog. It's cool if you are, but I don't roll like that—"

"Don't flatter yourself, homes. Listen," his tone grew soft, "I can't sit here and tell you I know exactly what demons you're facing, because I don't. But when I found you outside, stiff, on the verge of freezing to death, your body half-buried in the sand, shortly after shouting at your woman about how you didn't need 'any-fucking-body'—I dunno, ese, it all sounded like a cry for help to me…"

The nosy motherfucker kept talking and talking, tryna read me and analyze my psyche like he was a world-renowned psychologist or some shit. But his words were going through one ear and out the other. He didn't know a damn thing about me, or the shit I've been through. The dude was just another lame ass Vagos motherfucker who went soft. Fists clenched, my heartbeat sped up, pounding in my ears.

"Our past defines us," he continued. "But whether it destroys us, or makes us stronger, that amigo, is entirely up to us. Don't end up like me, completely alone, dying of heartache. The girl is important to you, yeah? So treat her well, before you lose her forever—"

"Fuck you," I grabbed his scrawny neck and shoved him away from me so suddenly, he lost his balance and sprawled out onto the floor.

"Dios mío!" Diego exclaimed. He rose his machete toward me. "Watch it, cabrón. You always this aggressive toward your amigos?"

"Firstly, you ain't my fuckin' friend, punk ass motherfucker. You don't know me, a'ight? Secondly, the fuck do you know 'bout relationships anyway? You the loneliest motherfucker I've ever met, you got some fuckin' nerve tryna spit advice at me. Man, fuck this shit, you can keep this bitch ass tent, nigga, and yo' dusty ass weed," I flicked the burning joint at him and stood, snapping my fingers together for Chop's attention. "C'mon little homie, I rather take my motherfuckin' chances outside than spend another minute with this sad, sappy ass fool."

I stepped past him, Chop followed close behind as I pushed my way out of the tent, into the night's strong, gusty wind, and smothering darkness.

"Wait!" Diego scrambled out of the tent and slipped in front of me, blocking my path. "I don't want to fight you, ese. You're right, I don't know you. The demons you're facing, it's none of my business, I sincerely apologize, homes. It's um…" He scrubbed his fingers through his curly locks. "It's been a really long time since I've talked to anyone, you know?"

I sighed, and rolled my tight shoulders, trying to shake off the tension in my muscles. Maybe I was being too hard on the nosy little bitch. "Look dog, I know it's hard out here," I said. "You seem like a cool dude, you eses ain't so bad, but I really ain't in the mood to make friends. I'm havin' a real shitty night, I'm stressed out, and all I really wanna do is feel like shit in peace. No offense, but you talk too fuckin' much, homie."

He smiled. "None taken, honesty is a virtue, amigo. You aren't so bad yourself, a little rough around the edges, and easily agitated, but your heart is in the right place. If you want to leave, I'm not stopping you, but before you go…" His voice lowered into a whisper. "There's something you need to know, ese."

"Why the fuck you whisperin', dog?" My eyes darted about the dark, broken waste of desert around us, scanning our surroundings. "There ain't nobody here, man."

"I might be overreacting…" Diego's bloodshot eyes scouted the area as he spoke. "I get real paranoid when I'm high, amigo, but those loco inbred rednecks your lady and friends went with? They're bad news."

"W-what?"

"They've been circling my camp for a few days now, watching me like hawks, they think I don't know, amigo, but I'm no fool—"

I grinned, and waved a hand at him dismissively. "Man, quit playin', homie. You high as a motherfucker, dog."

"You've heard the rumors about them, yeah? They used to be big time meth dealers, ese. They had their own little farm and meth lab in Grapeseed, 'til a rival dealer put them out of business, slaughtered almost all of them. Some of 'em got away though, and went into hiding, relocated to a trailer park up north. Something isn't right about that place, bad energy amigo, most folks avoid it like the plague. People have been disappearing, y'know? Rumor is, the last couple of strangers they picked up never returned. I hear they were chopped up and served on a platter—"

"What?" I blinked, brows raised. "Are you jokin'? 'Cause that shit ain't funny, dog. Where the fuck did you hear all these crazy ass rumors from anyway?"

"I hear a lot of things, I have to go into town every now and then to stock up on supplies." He gave my shoulder a stern pat. "It's a real shame about your woman though, she seemed like one of the good ones, amigo. They're probably gonna use her a baby maker, homes."

"Nigga," I grimaced. "For real? The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Look, I warned you, that's all I can do. If you don't believe me, tough shit, ese. You didn't hear it from me." He turned away for the tent.

I latched onto his hairy arm. "If you really serious 'bout this shit, why the fuck you ain't tell me sooner? Before my homies went with them?"

"Are you loco? Can't you tell I have enough problems already? I'm not looking to start beef with meth head rednecks, there's about a dozen of them, ese, and only one of me. I live in their territory, in a tent at that, it's suicide, amigo. I came out here to avoid trouble, not start it."

"You sound real fuckin' shady, dog." I glared at him, nostrils flared, my grip on his long, twig-like arm tightened. He winced, dropping his machete, a stiff groan of pain escaped his lips. "You know exactly where them inbred hillbilly bitches are holdin' up at, don't you nigga? Take me to them, or I'll bury yo' punk ass right here and now. Don't think I won't, wastin' annoyin' eses like you is one of my favorite pastimes, I live for that shit, homie—"

"Alright, alright," he grumbled between clenched teeth. "Enough with the threats, puto. I'll take you wherever you wanna go, okay?"

* * *

 **Another chapter down, yay! Don't stop reading now, keep going! There's another chapter waiting for you, let's get right to it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**So because I love y'all so much, I decided to give you two chapters at once, instead of having to wait another week! Awesome right? It may or may not have something to do with the previous chapter being short... Lol, so we're back to Tracey's point of view now. Please enjoy the crazy, violent, and hopefully somewhat romantic ride.**

* * *

 **Tracey**

"There has to be a way out!" I cried, frantically patting down the rough concrete walls surrounding us. We were trapped in a cold, empty room, isolated from the rest of the world, we were wasting away in a homemade prison made by insane, creepy rednecks.

It was so dark and quiet, flashes of brown fur skittered through the blackness, there were rats everywhere. The windows were caked with grime and boarded up tight with planks, narrow shafts of light filtered through the tiny cracks in the chipped wood. I could barely breathe, every breath I took was thick with dust. "Guys!" I screamed, my chest tight, I was literally hyperventilating. "This can't be happening! W-what are we going to do?"

"You need to calm down, white girl," Lamar said, sitting down in the center of the filthy gray concrete floor. Jimmy was sprawled out at full length beside him. With the support of a feeble radiance shining down from a bare bulb overhead, the boys casually skimmed through the dusty pages of an aged pornography magazine. Most of the pages were ripped, and coated with bloodstains.

My lips curled, that's so gross. Where the heck did they even find that stupid magazine anyway? I didn't care enough to ask, however. I had more important things to worry about, like escaping before we were chopped up and served for dinner. I peeled off toward the concrete door, and shoved myself against it, but it wouldn't budge. Ugh, it had to locked from the other side.

"Mmm, take a peep at that shit, dog," nose deep in the perverted magazine, Lamar pointed at a photograph of a curvy chick, her entire body covered in skintight leather except for her giant butt cheeks. "Baby girl got ass for days."

Jimmy, still holding his bloodied nose, nodded in approval. "She's smoking hot, fam. You think she likes Righteous Slaughter?"

I stomped my heel against the concrete for their attention. "How the fudge are you guys so freaking calm right now?" I asked, glaring at them.

"Unlike you, me and my homie already went through the five stages of grief," Jimmy said. "And you're still on stage one, denial. Jesus, you need to move on already."

"Really?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Am I missing something? Did someone die?"

"We about to die," Lamar said. "I was in denial at first too, then I got real angry, almost got my dome blown off by a revolver, so I tried bargaining and shit next, but them hick motherfuckers weren't tryna hear it. I got real depressed, thinkin' about my moms, and all the bad bitches I got waitin' for a nigga back home. They probably blowing up my phone right now, y'know what I'm sayin'? But it's cool, I accept this shit now."

"Oh my god," I huffed. "They said they're going to eat your _effing lips_! Are you crazy? How can you accept that?"

"Nah, I don't just accept it," Lamar said. "I'm actually fucking flattered they wanna eat a nigga's lips so bad. Who wouldn't? My shit is luscious as a motherfucker."

"Hell yeah, homie," Jimmy said. "Like, if I was an inbred cannibal, I'd go for your lips first too, dude. No homo, but they're pretty nice, fam."

"That's real talk right there, my nigga." Lamar gave Jimmy a fist bump. "Even niggas know what this mouth do, I put in work, these lips work wonders, dog."

"Accept it, sis," Jimmy said. "This is our new reality. I don't want to be chopped up into bite-sized pieces and fed to their premature, retarded inbred babies, but hey, what can ya do, right? Hopefully I taste good, y'know?" Jimmy sniffed, his blue eyes bleary and bloodshot. "At least in death, my corpse will serve a higher purpose than slowly decomposing and getting feasted on by maggots, a-and I won't have to deal with my lame dad telling me to clean my room anymore. I-I can go on and on, there's so many silver linings in this situation."

Lamar's gaze shifted to Jimmy's flustered face. He frowned, and gently wiped away the tears brimming on Jimmy's eyelashes. "That gallows humor shit ain't cool," Lamar said softly. "Don't worry, nigga, everybody gotta die sometime. It's alright, you probably gonna go to heaven anyway, 'cause you's a bitch. There's plenty of room up there for soft ass dudes like you."

Jimmy smiled weakly. "Y-you mean it, homie?"

"Yeah, nigga, this is real talk. Bet you there's a clusterfuck of sexy, virgin angel bitches up in the clouds, all gullible and shit, they gonna fall through easy. But 'til then, you gotta man up, little nigga. Dry yo' eyes smurf, we ain't even get to the middle of this magazine yet. I'm tryna finish this shit before them hillbillies come back to gut our asses. There's a lot more booty to see, and you bitchin' out like this is killing my vibe, nigga."

"I'm not crying, I have bad glands and my allergies are acting up, I need my antihistamines." Jimmy's wide, trembling frame huddled close to Lamar, his fat head propped on Lamar's lap. "Hold me, homie," Jimmy muttered. "Franklin isn't here to be my replacement dad, so you'll have to do, dude."

"Damn nigga," Lamar shook his head, lightly stroking Jimmy's shoulder to comfort him. "You like a big, ugly ass kid, dog. It's cool though, poppas got you, baby ass bitch. We gon' die together."

"You guys are such homos," I rolled my eyes. Clearly these pathetic idiots weren't going to be any help. I turned for the boarded windows and peered outside through the narrow cracks in the wood. The hot desert sun had begun to peek over the horizon, bright streaks of red and pink overcame the cloudy twilight sky. There were trailers and mobile homes sprawled haphazardly across the sand, each in close proximity of one another. Hillbillies armed with pitch forks patrolled about the narrow dirt roads.

I grimaced. Even if we did manage to escape this concrete prison, we weren't getting out of this trailer park without a fight. The odds weren't in our favor, Jimmy and I couldn't throw a punch worth crap. Lamar could probably handle himself, but he was only one person, and to make matters worse, he was injured as well. We were pretty much screwed.

The wooden planks that boarded the window had been pounded in by hammer and nails. If only there were something around here I could use to yank out the nails or break the boards…

Eyes glued to the sleazy pages of his pamphlet, Lamar called out to me. "White girl, before they deep fry my black ass, there's somethin' a nigga gotta know. How did a snooty little spoiled bitch like you end up with my boy Frank? You ain't really my nigga's type, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Shut up," I grumbled as I pulled at the window boards. The flaky wood was splintery, pointy wooden chips scraped my fingers with every tug, piercing my skin, drawing blood. It stung so bad, but I ignored the pain, and kept pushing. "Franklin is a heartless jerk, okay? I don't want to talk about him."

"Nah, Frank a moody motherfucker, but that fool ain't heartless," Lamar replied. "That nigga soft for the pussy."

"I seriously doubt he's soft for anything or anyone, vaginas especially, unless he has an erectile dysfunction or something."

"Nah, that ain't what I meant. He ever tell you 'bout the one bitch from high school he was chasin' after?"

"Nope, and I don't care—"

"She dropped his ass for a surgeon, bitch thought she was too good for CGF niggas. It was a damn shame too, 'cause homie was sprung as a motherfucker. Didn't wanna do it large with his niggas no more, didn't wanna get his dick wet, always runnin' after that turncoat ass bitch. She knew she couldn't turn a tiger into no bitch ass house cat though, my nigga got that CGF blood in 'em, he bleeds green, you know what I'm sayin'? Leopards don't change their spots, once a thug, always a thug."

"If that whore couldn't accept him for who he is, then she wasn't the right one for him anyway," I grumbled. "And yes, for a gangster, murderer and thief, I guess he could be worse. But the illegal crap he does in his free time isn't an excuse for him to treat me like crap. My dad is an even bigger psychopath than he is, but he's happily married now, his relationship with my mom is stronger than ever, they don't even cheat on each other anymore. It's a friggin' miracle."

"I'm seriously not surprised your little fling with F-Dog crashed and burned so fast," Jimmy said. "He doesn't really come across as the soft, compassionate type, like at all. He's more like, the I'll-steal-your-car-and-beat-you-to-death-if-you-try-to-stop-me kinda guy. He looks irritated all the time, y'know? It's like, super hard not to trigger him. Sometimes I wonder if he actually likes me, or just tolerates me because of Dad. Chances are, he probably secretly hates all of us."

"Nah, nigga, nah," Lamar argued. "Y'all bitches are just sensitive. Frank got a tendency to say a lot of foul shit he don't mean, that's all that is. I know that big, black motherfucker be mean and scary sometimes, but at the end of the day, all that nigga got is love for the squad. Yeah, he all Vinewood now, but that nigga would go through hell and back for the homies. He'll bitch about it, sure, but if you ever need for anything—and I do mean anything, whether it's a wingman or a nigga to come bust on some fools, he'll be there."

"So he's kinda like a really grumpy, poorly trained dog then?" Jimmy asked. "Aggressive, but blindly loyal and protective of his homies?"

Lamar nodded. "Exactly. He's always been a dog ass nigga."

I shook my head. "Which is he—a tiger, leopard or a dog? Whatever, I don't care. If you're trying to convince me to forgive him, you're doing a terrible job, Lamar."

Lamar lowered his magazine, and glanced at me, his brows raised. "I don't give a fuck if you beefin' with Frank, that's y'all business. You oughta scratch yo' ass and get glad soon, baby girl. Don't carry a grudge to the grave, you don't wanna come back as a banshee or some shit—"

The heavy thud of boots echoed across the floor from outside the concrete door. I flinched, someone was coming! I pulled away from the boarded window, and huddled close to Lamar and Jimmy. There was lots of movement coming from the other side, and with a loud snap, the door was thrown open.

Roger's stubby frame appeared in the shadowy doorway, his blistered, crooked lips twisted into a menacing smile. Silently, he gawked at us, dark shadows under his sunken eyes. Very slowly, he inched into the light. A toolbelt hung below his flabby gut, the leather pouches strapped to his wide hips were packed with a variety of gardener's and carpenter's tools. I winced at the sight of his rusty, bloodstained instruments. I had a feeling he used them for more than just planting and building…

"Whew-wee!" Roger squealed. "Y'all are lookin' mighty fine and delicious—"

Jimmy shot up into a stance. "Dude, Lamar's the one you want, he's the one with the big, luscious lips. Why don't you just eat him, and let me and Tracey go?"

"Really motherfucker?" Lamar glared at Jimmy, his hazel gaze hard and protruding. "It's like that, nigga?"

"Let you go?" Roger snorted loudly, a glob of thick green mucus spewed from his short, stubby nose. "Now why in tarnation would I do that, huh? Killin' you is gon' be fun! First I'm gon' beat you with this here whack-a-mole mallet." He scooped up a hammer from his toolbelt. "His name is Tom by the by, y'all gon' get real acquainted with Tommy. Most of the time I use him on the rabbits, them darn critters are always diggin' holes in my daddy's backyard. They're a real nuisance, I tell ya. Anywho, after I get your bones all broken up, I'm gon' slice ya and dice ya with my scissors, just like this."

He drew a pair of tiny shears next, and waved the sharp end through the air in wide, very awkward sweeping motions. "You see that? I'll stab ya so good. I reckon by the time I'm done shankin' ya, y'all should be dead. But in case you ain't, I guess I'll just uh, stomp on ya with these here rubber boots my daddy gave me last summer. Boy, are they comfortable, and mighty fashionable if I do say so myself—"

"Nigga, you gonna lay our asses out or what?" Lamar asked, his expression tight, skin stretched into a snarl. "'I rather you just put me out of my motherfuckin' misery right now nigga, than listen to yo' country bumpkin ass for a second longer."

A glint of evil flashed in Roger's intense, fevered glare. "Don't mind if I do!" He stalked toward Lamar with his hammer raised high above his ugly, deformed head. Heart pounding in my ears, Jimmy and I scrambled away on all fours, our backs pressed to the wall. Lamar remained seated on the floor however, still and calm, seemingly unfazed by the threatening, crazed man approaching him.

"Nighty-night," Roger flashed a crooked, rotted smile, and swung the hammer at Lamar. By some miracle, Lamar caught Roger's wrist mid attack, and launched a quick jab at his face.

 ** _Crack!_**

The powerful blow knocked Roger off his feet, blood spurted from his bruised lips, his chunky body flopped onto the floor. In a flash, Lamar was on top of him, pinning him down.

"The ape's got me, pa!" Roger screamed, his voice shrill. "Man down! Man down! It's too darn strong—"

Lamar's bloodied knuckles clobbered Roger's ugly face over and over. Roger's high-pitched screams split the air, his body soon went limp from the brutal assault. Teeth bared and nostrils flaring, Lamar's flurry of vicious attacks did not cease until Roger's skull caved in, his battered face an oozing, bloody mess. I grimaced, my stomach churned at the disgusting sight.

"H-holy shit, fam," Jimmy scrambled to Lamar's side and gazed at the motionless body before him. "He's dead, he has to be—you fucking wrecked him, dude! What happened to the five stages of grief? Acceptance and all that?"

"Naw, nigga, I never accept defeat," Lamar replied, he rolled off Roger's corpse. "It just look like that sometimes, but a real nigga always keeps his shit calm and collected, I creep in silence, nigga. I was waitin' for the perfect moment to scalp his ass from the very beginning, you know what I'm sayin'? It's that Apache blood in me, nigga—"

"R-Roger?" The old man's meaty body appeared in the doorway, back hunched, he stared at his son's broken body incredulously, his shriveled mouth fell open. "Good Lord, my boy! My only son! What have y'all done?"

"I ganked his fat, inbred ass, that's what the fuck I did, fool," Lamar retorted. He seized Roger's hammer from the floor. Clutching his injured leg, a tight groan slipped through Lamar's lips as he rose into a stance. "Yo' old ass is next, motherfucker."

"You don't stand a chance, boy." The old man limped forward, a mob of disgruntled rednecks emerged from behind him and swarmed the room, surrounding us, each of them armed with sharp pitchforks. They watched us with jaundiced, beady eyes, their mouths watered and foamed like starved savages. I squealed, shuddering violently, my heart thudded louder and louder. I cowered down near Jimmy and Lamar.

This was it. It was all over! There was no way we were getting out of this alive!

Slow and menacingly, the armed rednecks inched forward, closing in on us.

"Bring it pussies!" Jimmy scooped up Roger's tiny pair of shears from the concrete floor, and held the sharp end on our encroaching enemies.

"Y'all gon' pay for hurtin' my Roger," the old man's eyes flashed, and his mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. He drew his revolver, and pointed the cold steel at us, but held his fire. "Kill 'em slow boys, be careful not to taint the meat now—"

A machete suddenly leapt into view, and pressed against the old man wrinkly neck from behind, silencing him. The inbred psychos stalking after us froze in place, their heads snapped toward their leader. In one swift movement, the blade slit the old man's pale throat, blood gushed from the gaping wound like a river, staining his overalls a crimson red. He gradually sagged to the ground as his life slipped away, and Franklin emerged with Chop at his side, standing tall in the old man's place, the machete in his grasp coated with blood.

I gaped at Franklin, a fluttery sensation struck my stomach.

"Replacement Dad!" Jimmy called out to Franklin, a slow smile building on his face.

His full lips set in a grim line, and jaw tense, Franklin glared at the cannibal hillbillies surrounding us, blood oozed from his blade in thick droplets. "Which one of y'all bucktooth bitches wanna get laid out next?"

A tense silence filled the air, the inbred psychos exchanged wary glances at one another. Chop stepped forward, snarling viciously, his muscles bulging.

"Eat them niggas, Chop!" Lamar demanded.

Without a moment's delay, Chop lunged at the nearest hillbilly, the large dog knocked him over and sunk his teeth into the man's neck. The remaining hillbillies sprang into action to aid their fallen comrade, their pitchforks aimed at Chop. Franklin and Lamar rushed to the dog's defense, intercepting our enemies.

Jimmy and I huddled in the corner for safety as the men engaged each other in fierce, ruthless combat. Franklin cut down each redneck idiot that dared face him, blood sprayed everywhere, painting the walls and floor red, his powerful strikes and swift dodges seemed effortless. Although wounded, Lamar seemed to be handling himself well, cracking skulls with the blunt hammer in his grasp, his lanky body managed to, very clumsily, evade every forked attack that came his way.

One of the rednecks peeled off from the action, his bloodshot eyes darted to Jimmy and I. My stomach dropped. Snickering loudly like a maniac, he charged, his pitchfork surged straight for us. A weight pressed on my chest, leaving me breathless. I couldn't move, my knees locked.

Jimmy let out a high-pitched yelp. He gripped my arm, and ducked, jerking me down with him. The razor-sharp weapon collided with the wall, missing us by mere inches.

"Quit movin' so darn much!" The hillbilly clutched Jimmy's leg, and rose the deadly pitchfork over my brother's fat head, preparing to strike.

"Jimmy!" My fight-or-fight response kicked in, and I shot up to defend my little brother, clinging to the hillbilly's bony back. My fingernails sinking into his shoulders, I captured his ear between my teeth, and I bit down on his gross, dirty flesh the hardest I could.

The hillbilly cried out in agony, dropping his pitchfork. Jimmy claimed the discarded weapon in a hurry, and with a quick thrust, he impaled the hillbilly through the stomach. The fatal blow caused him to stumble back, but the stubborn hillbilly remained standing. Veins growing engorged and pulsating, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and wrangled me off him. With a stiff shove of his shoulder, I tumbled onto the cold floor face-first, my forehead crashed against the concrete.

Tears swelled in my eyes, and my sight blurred, an unbearable pain exploded in my skull. I cried, whimpering loudly and clinging to my aching forehead. It hurt so bad…

"Tracey!" Franklin shouted my name from afar.

"Help!" Jimmy wailed, his face sweaty and ashen, he backpedaled away from the impaled hillbilly who refused to friggin' die.

Franklin dashed to our defense, slaying the hillbilly with a speedy hack to the head. The machete split his cranium in half, blood and gooey brain matter sprayed from the gaping wound. His body collapsed to the ground lifelessly from the fatal blow.

Silence filled the space, all that remained was the ebb and flow of our harsh, heaving breaths. The small concrete room had been reduced to a bloody, gruesome mess, our crazed enemies laid dead before us, their body's limp, eyes closed and broken faces a chalky white.

"Replacement Dad!" Jimmy threw his fat, tattooed arms around Franklin. "You saved us! I knew you would, homie! I knew it!"

Franklin formed a tight smile, his muscles tensed. "Fo' sho' Jim, I got you."

"Took yo' bitch ass long enough to show up, nigga," Lamar grumbled.

Chop's blood coated muzzle appeared over me. Panting, the large dog studied me with big, sad eyes. He let out a shrill whine, and bombarded me with a flurry of soggy licks. I winced, his breath reeked of something awful, but I couldn't help but giggle, his black, wet nose tickled.

"A'ight, this shit is gettin' weird now," Franklin shifted from Jimmy's arms.

"Right, sorry F-Dog," Jimmy glanced at me. "Is Tracey alright?"

Lamar limped my way, his collar stained with blood, he inspected me with a critical eye. "Frank, white girl ain't looking too good, nigga."

Franklin threw his blood drenched machete aside and knelt before me. His soft brown gaze laced with concern, he took me into his sweaty, muscled arms, my chest pressed against his. I melted into his warm, protective embrace, his touch muddled my thoughts, my anger and animosity toward him quickly dispersed. Even though he was an asshole, I was so glad to see him. He'd always show up just in the nick of time to save me. He was always there when I needed him.

He pulled away just slightly, and examined my aching forehead. "Tracey, you good?" He brushed his fingers through my messy hair, neatly smoothing down the strands gone astray. "How's your head?"

"It hurts," I murmured.

"Yo, you and white girl can kiss and make up later," Lamar turned away, Jimmy scrambled after him. "We rollin', homie."

Franklin planted a gentle kiss on my forehead. "C'mon, baby," he said softly. He offered me his hand, and helped me to my feet, our fingers intertwined. Side by side, we followed behind Lamar and Jimmy with Chop trotting happily at our heels.

* * *

Once we made it out of the concrete prison and back to the outside world, we took Roger's and his old man's Jeep parked along the side of the dirt road, and used it as our getaway, considering they weren't going to need it anymore. We were all eager to leave the cruddy trailer park in the dust and finally return home, but the vehicle was running on fumes. We were forced to stop at the nearest town for gas.

Unfortunately, it was an early Friday morning, and the small desert town was rather lively with drivers rushing to work, preparing for the day ahead. All four gas pumps at the station were busy, and after five excruciatingly long minutes of waiting in line with the hot desert sun glaring down on us, Franklin was literally on the verge of falling asleep at the wheel.

We were all painfully exhausted after the terrible night we endured. Thankfully, there was a cheap motel across the street from the gas station. It was a two-story building, paint peeled from the exterior, and the dusty vacancy sign hung halfway off the hinges, partly lit and swaying in the wind, in desperate need of repair. Rows and rows of motorcycles crowded the motel's small, dingy parking lot, discarded take-out meals were strewn across the unkempt, weedy concrete. It seemed like one of those seedy places where potbelly biker gangs banged their hookers, and delved in their shady dealings away from prying eyes.

Lamar and Franklin handed over their cash to the motel clerk, in exchange for a key to a small, shoddy room on the second floor. With only two full sized mattresses to choose from within, we were forced to share beds with one another. Jimmy volunteered to shack up with Lamar so I could be with Franklin, but little did my brother know, I wasn't too thrilled about lying beside him. My euphoria and gratitude regarding Franklin's well-timed arrival at the trailer park could only distract me from the truth for so long.

He was still an asshole.

If the room's cracked tiles weren't so caked with dust, I would had preferred to sleep on the floor with Chop. At least Chop was loyal and consistent, he didn't wallow in self-pity, and take his rage out on other people. He didn't have unpredictable emotions, and random, explosive mood swings. He didn't jump at any opportunity to argue, and didn't make me feel like total crap all the time either. Chop was a good boy. Too bad his owners were practically insane.

With no choice but to lay beside Franklin, I faced the peeling, whitewashed wall and curled up on the corner of the springy bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Thankfully, he kept his hands to himself, and remained on his side. Sleep fell on me like an axe, despite how much I tried to fight my exhaustion, I blacked out in seconds.

I jerked awake, drenched in sweat, my back turned to Franklin. I had no idea how much time had passed since I was out, but it was baking in here. The room was musty and hot, even more humid than the blazing heat outside. Heavy beads of rain pounded against the window pane, booming voices and stomping echoed through the paper-thin walls, our neighbors were arguing like lunatics. Ugh, how did people manage to sleep in these crappy conditions? I sighed, sleep pooled in my heavy-lidded eyes, I wiped the beads of sweat from my face. My forehead still ached, but the pain had eased significantly compared to earlier.

Chop was sprawled out on the floor, beside Jimmy's and Lamar's bed. Floppy ears raised, he peeked at me with one tiny eye open, and then drifted right back to sleep shortly after. Poor doggie, even he was worn out from the long night we had.

Somehow, Jimmy and Lamar were still fast asleep despite the noise and agonizing humidity. Franklin was as well, but he was having a difficult time within the dream world, his flustered, muscled body shifted about in a fitful slumber, his gaze darted rapidly beneath his closed eyelids. I frowned, whatever he was dreaming about didn't seem pleasant.

I was tempted to wake him, but the bitter words, and ugly insults he spat at me last night flashed through my mind, stopping me in my tracks. Meh, screw him. I refused to take the risk of angering him, I didn't have the strength to deal with his short temper anymore. It was safer to let the big grumpy bear sleep.

Crap, I couldn't handle another second of the boiling heat. I stood, wincing as I dragged myself from the creaking mattress, over to the cruddy conditioner protruding silently from the moldy window frame. I twisted the grimy knobs and poked buttons, but piece of crap wouldn't work. I gave it a firm punch, and while it still didn't start, a thick puff of dust spewed from the vents.

I coughed, heaving as the dust cloud invaded my lungs. I stormed off for the door, in dire need for fresh air. The door creaked as I made my exit into the damp, afternoon rain. I stood by the edge of the second-floor balcony, taking refuge from the wet weather, and stared out at hard rain as it washed away the soot and filth littering the ground. The heavy downpour left the small town at standstill, traffic had come to a complete halt, not a soul dared to navigate the flooded sidewalks. The rain's kiss was a rare gift to the dry, barren land, especially for the dehydrated vegetation and wildlife who grieved over the dry stream beds.

The constant pitter-patter of the storm's weighty droplets colliding with the earth was surprisingly calming. I could linger beneath the storm's blackened clouds forever, the rain distracted me from my worries and troublesome thoughts. I sighed heavily. We were safe now. After everything we've been though, we were all alive and breathing. Hopefully our moment of safety and refuge lasted a long while.

Our motel door creaked open. I turned my head. Franklin appeared, leaning against the brick wall behind me, a lighter and a pack of Redwood cigarettes within his grasp. I rolled my eyes at the sight of him, the big grumpy bear had finally awakened. Thankfully, he had cleansed most of the gross hillbilly blood from his clothes and skin, but a few traces still lingered on his shirt.

"What you doin' out here by yourself, girl?" He asked as he lit his cigarette.

"Just enjoying the view," I said, my voice deadpan. I returned my sight to the rain.

"How's your head?"

"It's fine."

He grew quiet for a moment, I could feel the heat of his gaze on my back. "You a'ight? Anythin' you wanna talk 'bout?"

"Nope."

"Mind if I join you?"

I responded with a shrug. Franklin took my side, and held his cigarette pack toward me. I shook my head, declining his generous offer of cancer sticks. A tense silence filled the air as we watched the rain. Moisture had begun to seep through the cracks in the crummy stone roof overhead, droplets leaked down on us, soaking our attire. We both remained still regardless of the wetness. I didn't mind it, the cold rain was just what I needed to cool my hot, sweaty skin.

"So, how'd you find us at the trailer park?" I asked.

"Diego helped," he answered, pausing to exhale a puff of smoke. "He knew them hillbilly motherfuckers were up to somethin'. Wish he woulda told me sooner, before y'all left with them in the first place, but better late than never."

"I'm surprised you showed up at all. I didn't think you'd consider us worth the effort."

"Sure y'all are, I care 'bout you three."

"Really? Sometimes it's hard to tell."

Franklin gazed at me. "Ay look, I'm sorry 'bout what I said last night. That shit was foul—"

"Apology declined." I pulled off for motel room entrance, but he captured my wrist.

"Wait," his voice softened. "Hear me out real quick."

I snatched my hand away. Reluctantly, I turned to face him. "What do you want?"

Franklin flicked his lit cigarette onto the ground. "For real, I didn't mean any of that shit, a'ight? I wanted you to be safe, I knew you wouldn't ditch my ass unless I gave you a good reason to."

"So what? Is that supposed to make it okay?"

"Nah, it doesn't, Trace." He paused, scratching his beard. "It was a split-second decision, obviously the wrong fuckin' one, I'd take it all back if I could. I got issues, my life is a goddamn mess, I'm fucked up. I thought pushin' you away was for the best, I thought you deserved better than me—"

"Wait, why are you telling me all of this?"

"Girl, I don't fucking know," he muttered, there was sadness in his voice, his head hung low and brown eyes stared up at me. I frowned, my heart clenched at his dejected tone. "I ain't really too good at apologizing and shit, but fuck it, I really am sorry. You don't know when you got a good thing 'til it's gone, you feel me? Those rednecks almost killed yo' fine ass, I was terrified for you, Trace. I ain't never felt anxiety like that before over anybody. I care 'bout you, a'ight? I care 'bout you a lot—"

"Just stop, okay? I'm not stupid, I won't let you lure me in again just so your violent mood swings, and your insecurities can tear everything we've built together apart. It's so exhausting fighting you all the freaking time."

Tears stung my eyes. I sniffed, choking it down. Franklin swallowed hard, silently gazing at me through glossy brown eyes. It would had been so easy to accept this beautiful man's apology. His damp white t-shirt had grown see-through, revealing his chiseled abdomen and broad chest, every slight movement gave away at his massive strength. Every moment I spent observing his pained, grief-stricken gaze tempted me more and more to forgive him. But I couldn't, I wouldn't—I wasn't gonna fall for his sweet lies again.

"You can't do that to me," I mumbled. "You can't just keep pushing me and pulling me in different directions, y-you can't keep playing with my emotions. I'm not a toy—"

"Well shit, you don't think I know that already?" Franklin retorted. "Of course you ain't a fuckin' toy."

"Then why do you treat me like one? Seriously, I don't know what's real between us anymore, Frank."

"Damn, you slow or somethin'?" He snapped. "You can't tell when a motherfucker is pourin' his heart out?"

"Oh my god, Frank!" I shouted. "You weren't kidding when you said something was wrong with you. You are such an asshole, and you can't even help it—"

"Yeah, a'ight," he waved a hand at me dismissively. "You ain't much fuckin' better, at least I ain't goin' around spittin' on fools. That was some nasty, childish ass shit, girl."

Heat licked my skin, a hot surge of pain welled up inside me. My hands balled into fists, I lashed out, and threw a punch at Franklin's dumb, stupid face. He caught my fist in the palm of his hand.

"Let go," I grumbled between clenched teeth, trying to wrestle myself free from his calloused grip.

Franklin's large arm locked around my waist, and he yanked me in. I gasped, heart pounding, I shivered helplessly in his tight embrace, my body pinned against his. He latched onto my neck, softly, he tilted my trembling chin, our eyes met. His full lips hovered over mine, tantalizingly close, I could almost taste him, the alluring scent of his sweat and cologne flooded my senses.

"Baby, I don't wanna fight, a'ight?" He pressed his forehead to mine. "Fo' sho', I fucked up, but the feelings I got for you are real. I'm feelin' you, I wouldn't lie 'bout that shit."

He kissed me, long and clinging, our breath mingled, my anger was whisked away in an instant. The moment his lips lowered to my neck, burning on contact as his mouth brushed lightly over my vulnerable skin, my entire world melted away. The caress of his full lips comforted me more than words ever could, my knees quaked. His strong hands slipped under my skirt, and he swept me into his powerful arms, my thighs straddled him. I clung to his broad shoulders as he pinned me to the wall, our bodies molded together.

Franklin's kisses became more passionate with every push of his tongue against my skin. Breathless and head swimming, I moaned in his ear. He shuddered, the fine hairs on his neck raised.

"Talk to me," he said softly as he pulled away, his smoldering brown eyes stared searchingly into mine. "Lemme in your head, tell me how you're feelin'. It's like the whole fuckin' world is plottin' against us. Shit keeps goin' wrong, an endless cycle of one fuck-up after another—but we're still here, right? We still got each other. So, let's work this shit out, babe. I'm tired of fightin' with you, seems like that's all we ever do."

"Because you just randomly explode on me," I spoke frantically, my voice cracked. "And you're so cruel, a-and I don't know if you can help it, but I can't take the arguing… the things you said, it hurt…" My words trailed off. Fraught with emotion, I crumbled, tears spilled from my eyes. I buried my face in his strong, thick neck, sobbing uncontrollably. These past few days had been such an emotional rollercoaster, I couldn't hold in the pain anymore.

"I'm sorry," Franklin said softly, he stroked his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. "I'm so fuckin' sorry. I'll be better, a'ight? I'll change, I promise I'll be better. I'll treat you right from now on. I promise…"

I sobbed quietly in Franklin's comforting embrace until I ran out of tears, his muscular arms shielding me from harm. I must had been crazy for accepting him back into my good graces, but I was a fool for him, my heart wouldn't dare allow me to drift away from him for long. My feelings for him kept getting stronger and stronger with every falling out and successful make up we had. His heartfelt apology was undoubtedly genuine, and hopefully he carries out the promises he made. Maybe he really could change for the better if I didn't give up on him. Only time would tell.

"You good?" Franklin asked, setting me down gently.

I nodded, rubbing my gummy, sore eyes. "I'm okay, thanks to you. You saved me, Frank."

He smiled. "I'm with you. I'll save yo' cute ass as many times as it takes. I like you, and I like clappin' motherfuckers too, so you havin' a price on your head is a win-win scenario for me. Soon enough, all these dumb motherfuckers finna learn that we ain't to be fucked with."

I flushed, and beamed at the insane, grumpy, yet oddly irresistible man. "You really are crazy," I giggled, tangling my arms around his neck.

"I gotta feelin' you like my type of crazy."

"I love how protective you are, but I'm not sure how I feel about the murdering part."

"Mhmm," he smirked. "You ain't gotta lie."

"I'm serious." I stood on the tip of my toes and kissed his chin. "Hey Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"About what you said earlier—I don't want you to change."

"You for real?" His brows raised. "So, you don't mind when I argue, and intentionally push you away due to my destructive tendency to self-sabotage all my stable relationships? Or redirect my anger at the world toward you and treat you like shit even though you don't deserve it?"

"Um…" I fumbled. "That's not what I meant, but for the record, can you like, stop sabotaging yourself and redirecting your anger to me? Don't do any of that anymore—don't do any of that ever, got it?"

"Well shit, that's the plan, ain't it?"

"Yeah, but I still don't want you to change, you know?"

He scratched his stubbled cheek, his thick brows furrowed. "Nah, I don't know, girl. I ain't too sure what you mean. It's either you want me to change, or you don't. I can't do both."

"I knew what I signed up for from the beginning. I knew you were tough, and guarded, I knew you had thorns but I went for you anyway, and it's not fair for me to play the victim when I get hurt." I gazed into his eyes, admiring the golden starbursts within his deep brown stare. "What I'm trying to say is, you're a package deal, flaws and all. It's okay to argue sometimes, I think that's natural. I just want you to be kinder, and to communicate stuff better."

"Communication ain't really my thing. I'm more of a hands-on type of nigga, a man of action, you feel me?" He gave my butt a light pinch.

"Stop it, perv," I swatted his hand. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Fo' sho', it's just…" He paused, his eyes glued to my chest. "You got some real nice titties."

"What?" I glanced down. My boobs were literally popping out, clearly visible through my drenched shirt and bra. I winced, heat rose to my cheeks. "Don't look…"

"Awh, baby," he planted a kiss on my forehead. "Don't be shy, you look good. They're all perky and shit—"

"Can you please get your mind out of the gutter?" I buried my face in his chest, hiding my blushing cheeks.

"My bad, but those little ass titties are distractin'. I just wanna squeeze 'em—"

"Frank! Seriously, do you remember a single thing I said before?"

"Uh-huh, yeah," he cleared his throat. "I heard you. You want me to sugarcoat my words, find healthier methods of expressin' my feelings, and all that soft shit, right?"

"Exactly. We can work through your bad moods, can't we? There has to be some way we can deal with your temper as a team. I'm your sidekick, remember? I just want to help you."

"I know, Trace. I appreciate it, but learning how to control my anger and fucked up moods is all on me. Just stick with me, a'ight? Stay down for me, that's all you really can do if you wanna help."

"I'm here for you," I reached out to him, my fingertips toyed with his manly beard. I loved to touch him, mostly his handsome face, hands and smooth, muscular arms. His warmth was soothing, he didn't need to open his mouth, there was no need for words. Franklin's closeness alone had comforted me. We belonged together, and each time we were forced to part, I ached to be back in his arms again.

He smirked as I caressed his bearded cheeks, he must be getting used to my affectionate, and super awkward touching. I swallowed, my empty stomach gurgled. It's been forever since I ate anything…

"Babe," I cooed, my voice whiny and pleading. "I'm so hungry."

Franklin grinned, "Yeah? What you wanna eat, baby?" He patted my head softly as he spoke, his tone playful and light. "I got you."

"I want something yummy, like cake."

"Cake?" Franklin peered out through pouring rain at the flooded town below, his gaze darted to the gas station across the street. "I might find somethin' to satisfy your sweet tooth up in there. You hold it down here, I'll go grab you somethin' to snack on."

Franklin turned away.

"Nooo, come back!"

He quickly returned to me at my call. "Wassup? You good?"

"Take me with you."

"You sure? It's rainin' hard, girl."

I responded with a nod.

"A'ight, bring yo' ass on then." He took my hand, and whirled around to lead our advance, but I wouldn't budge.

"My tummy hurts," I stated.

"Yeah?" He rubbed my stomach gently. "You sure you ain't got gas, baby? 'Cause that snake we ate made me kinda gassy. You gotta let that shit out, you finna kill yourself tryna hold it in—"

"It's not gas," I frowned. "Frank, can you carry me? I don't wanna walk."

"Your stomach ain't hurtin' that bad, you just lazy as hell. For real though, you should hang back and relax—"

"I have to go, I'll die a pathetic, lonely death without you. I need you."

"Trace," Franklin beamed, he lowered his head in attempt to conceal his soft expression. "I'm just goin' across the street…" He sighed heavily. "Fuck, what are you doin' to me? You're makin' me soft. I got a reputation to upkeep on the streets, baby—"

"Seriously?" I blinked. "What's wrong with being soft? You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Nah, it ain't a bad thing, it's just different. You ain't like nobody I've ever been with, hood chicks and strippers ain't really the romantic, sappy types. Those bitches were stone cold compared to you. I ain't used to the mushy shit, it's real hard to swallow."

"You'll get used to it," I cupped his rugged cheeks and kissed his broad nose. "It's just a matter of time before you become just as soft as I am."

He snorted. "Uh-huh, we'll see 'bout that."

* * *

The flooding had cleared not long after Franklin and I secured a snack from the gas station. We woke the others once we got back to the motel, and we resumed our journey home. We arrived at the safe house by dusk, the last of the sun's rays had dipped behind a soft gray cloud, and the shadows of the night had cloaked the barren, sandy land.

Franklin parked the Jeep on the side of the dirt road before the cobblestone house. Jimmy hopped out of the car, and plopped onto the ground. "We made it!" He exclaimed, scrambling through the sand toward the house. "Mom! I'm alive!"

Cropped tail wagging erratically, Chop darted out of the vehicle after Jimmy. My heartbeat sped up, and I bounced on my toes. I could hardly believe it, we actually made it back!

"Ay," Franklin turned from the wheel, and glanced at Lamar. "I'ma get Tracey settled in, then we'll head back to LS to find you a doctor, dog."

"Make it quick, motherfucker," Lamar grumbled.

"Nah, I'm takin' my sweet ass time, nigga. You've been holdin' out for this long, you finna be a'ight regardless."

"That's 'cause I'm a motherfuckin' gangster, nigga. Can't nothin' faze me, nigga. I dunno why the fuck you wasted your time comin' after us in the first place, Frank. I had the situation with them cannibal redneck fools all under control. All you did was steal the glory, nigga. Everything woulda been all good without yo' ass."

"Sure nigga, whatever the fuck you say, dog." Jaw clenched, Franklin exited the car and maneuvered around it to the front passenger side. Like a gentleman, he held the door open for me.

He took my hand and helped me out of the Jeep. "Thanks," I smiled.

"I got you," he replied.

"As a matter of fact, nigga, go right on ahead," Lamar said, clumsily climbing into the front seat and taking the wheel. "Take all the sweet ass time you want wit' that white bitch, and them old white dudes, I don't give a fuck. Kiss all the wrinkly white ass you want, you yes-master ass nigga, but you better not hit me up when you need something, fool. Yo' bitch ass is goin' straight to voicemail, motherfucker—"

"Man, do you ever shut the fuck up?" Franklin glared hard at Lamar, a muscle ticked in his sculpted jaw. "All that petty, whiny shit—you startin' to remind me of my dried up ass aunt, nigga."

"Fuck you, nigga, don't talk about your auntie like that. She fine as hell, man."

"Nah, fuck you, bitch," Franklin blurted out, fists clenched. "Maybe if you stopped eatin' ass all day and clenchin' yo' pussy muscles with my aunt, you wouldn't bitch so damn much. Admit it, nigga, you gone and traded in your dick for a motherfuckin' vagina. Where you hidin' that pussy at, nigga—"

In an instant, Lamar stomped on the gas, and cranked the wheel. The Jeep's tires screeched and the car spun around, spraying sand at us in a wide circle. I coughed, shielding my eyes from the dust as Lamar sped off onto the dirt road with his middle finger held high, disappearing into the night.

Franklin grimaced and sucked his teeth. "Ungrateful motherfucker…" He muttered to himself.

I glanced down at myself. My clothes were caked with loads of sand, dirt and grime. "Ew," I winced, trying to dust myself off. "My outfit is ruined!"

"Your outfit has been fucked since the moment you put that shit on, girl."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That skirt ain't what I'd call proper desert attire, you feel me?" His gaze lowered to my thighs. "It does make for easy access though," he smirked.

"You're such a creep," I teased.

He chuckled, and seized my hand. "Let's get inside, a'ight? I'm finna get me somethin' to eat, I'm hungry as all shit."

"What we really need is a shower. Like, a really, really long one."

Franklin escorted me through the evening's shadows toward the safe house. Side by side, we drifted up the porch steps, and through the front door, our fingers intertwined. My heart swelled with warmth the moment we made it through the front door. We were finally home free! We made it!

Franklin and I reunited with Jimmy and Chop in the living room. Mom was there with them, and she literally burst into tears at the sight of us. It hurt to witness her cry, Mom must had been worried sick about us. Jimmy took it upon himself to recount the entire sad, screwed up story of what had happened to us while stranded in the desert in excruciating detail. Thankfully, he left out the small bits regarding Franklin and I's hot and cold love affair. It was a nice surprise, the dweeb finally learned to keep his fat mouth shut.

I slipped away from our emotional reunion the first chance I got, and headed for the bathroom. My dirty, sweaty skin was in desperate need of pampering. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, my toes flinched as they touched the cold ceramic floor. I turned the metallic dial, and hot water rained down on me, drenching my hair and trickling down my back. God, the steamy water was so relaxing. I made sure to bathe my skin lightly, carefully avoiding the scratches and bruises scattered across my body.

After my long shower was finished, I changed into a loose pair of polka dot shorts and a comfy oversized shirt. Now that I was finally clean and had some fresh clothes to wear, it was time for much needed sleep. I dragged myself upstairs to the bland guest room, and slumped onto the springy mattress. It was just as stuffy in here as I remembered, the air thick with dust. But I was too lazy to prop open the window, I just wanted to relax and get some rest.

Just as I began to doze off, there was a soft knock at the door. "Ay, Trace," Franklin's voice seeped beneath the doorway. "You in there?"

"Come in," I called out.

The door opened, and Franklin appeared. "My bad if you were sleepin'," he feigned a smile. "I just wanted to check on you. You good?"

"I'm perfect, thanks to you. You totally saved our asses, Frank."

"You ain't gotta thank me," he crossed his muscled arms over his chest. "I promised your pops I'd watch after you. I'm just pullin' favors. Speakin' of your pops, your moms mentioned somethin' 'bout him droppin' by here tomorrow. He misses y'all, hopefully him and Trevor settle shit with Madrazo soon, and we can get the fuck outta this shitty desert."

"Hopefully," I feigned a smile. "If I never saw a grain of sand again, it'd be too soon."

"For real, you couldn't pay me to come back here. Fuck that. Ay, I'ma let you get some sleep, a'ight? I'll be downstairs if you need me, gonna crash on the couch—"

"Screw the couch, why don't you sleep in here?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, I guess I could, if you want."

I reached out to him, making grabby hands. "Come here."

Franklin grinned and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Man…" He muttered as he squatted on the foot of the bed. "It's been a long fuckin' day. You mind if I get comfortable?"

"Of course, I don't mind. Go for it."

He kicked off his sneakers, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. I gaped at his beautifully defined torso. His large, bulging muscles were tense, veins protruding his flawless brown skin, he rolled his stiff shoulders and stretched his neck in attempt to relax.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "You look tense."

"I'm good," he replied. "Just a lil' stressed…"

I crawled over to him on all fours, and climbed into his lap, my thighs straddling him. His dark hair was damp, and his skin carried the clean scent of soap. He was fresh from the shower, he must had hopped in not long after I got out.

"Don't be stressed, babe," I said, gazing into his eyes. "Everything is okay."

"I guess everythin' is cool for now," he mumbled. "But it's the future that I'm worried 'bout—"

"Shh," I pecked his lips. "Try and relax. Live in the moment, you worry too much. I'm not afraid of the future as long as you're in it, I know you'll protect us. If anything goes wrong, you'll fix it. You're amazing like that."

Franklin cupped my cheek, caressing my skin, his touch callused, yet soothing. He flashed a sweet smile, a glint of confidence in his eyes. I snickered nervously, it was impossible to resist his charming, pearly white smile.

He drew me in for a kiss. A jolt shot through me as our lips met. I was getting used to his touch, I didn't dare shy away from his advances anymore. Stomach fluttering, I pulled away for only a moment, and arched up to his broad chest, burying my face in the crook of his strong neck. My lips caressed his skin, slow and soft, my palms massaged his wide back in firm circles. He sighed, a low groan escaped his throat, the tension in his muscles releasing.

I shivered as his arms locked around me, trapped in his warm embrace, he pulled up my shirt. His fingers fumbled with my bra, successfully unfastening the hooks, my breasts spilled from my loosened clothing. I shuddered, my face burned with heat as he flicked my nipples lightly.

He played with my breasts for a long while, squeezing and stroking, occasionally taking my nipple into his mouth for a taste. I watched him touch me, wide-eyed and unblinking, refusing to miss a single moment of the arousing sight. My body was left in a fragile state after everything we've been through, but his touch was tender, his sensual caresses rejuvenated my body and soul. He was going out of his way to be gentle, and I loved every moment of it.

Franklin took me into his arms, and eased me onto the mattress. He abruptly froze, his eyes fixed on my tummy, his lips pressed into a fine line.

"Hey..." I fumbled. "Are you okay?"

"It's not me you should be worried 'bout, baby," he frowned, his calloused fingertips skimmed over my bruised stomach. I winced. "You sure you good? The hillbillies, did they…" Franklin paused and swallowed deeply, his face nuzzled mine. "Did they hurt you? Before I found you?"

"I'm okay, Frank. I promise." I brushed my fingers through his damp hair. "You found us just in time. You stopped them."

"It's my fuckin' fault you left with them!" Nostrils flaring, his fists tightened around the sheets, the veins in his arms throbbing. "If I didn't push you to go, if I wasn't such a piece of shit—"

"Stop!" I blurted out, and slapped my palm over his mouth. "You're getting angry, you need to calm the heck down, okay? You promised you'd communicate better, so try it right now. Tell me how you feel without the anger, without being crazy. Can you do that?"

He sighed heavily into my palm, and nodded weakly. I lowered my hand, allowing him to speak. "My bad," he spoke softly, his voice hesitant and carefully controlled. "I feel guilty, a'ight? That's how I feel."

"Thanks for calming down, but nothing that happened last night was your fault. You didn't know the hillbillies were bad people. You can't blame yourself for any of that crap." I cupped his rugged cheek. "Last night, you weren't the only one who said some mean things. I'm sorry for what I said, and for spitting on you. That was crappy of me, despite the circumstances."

Franklin's nose brushed mine, our eyes locked. "Nah, it's cool, baby. I can't hold none of that shit against you, I deserved it."

I wrinkled my nose in protest. "Nope."

He smirked, and pecked my lips. Slowly, he planted a delicate trail of hot kisses down to my stomach. I squirmed with every brush of his full lips against my skin. He gripped the waistband of my shorts, and glanced at me, awaiting my approval. I nodded, trembling with need as he slid them off. He helped me wiggle out of my shirt and bra next, and draped my clothes over the side of the bed neatly. His eyes, smoldering with intensity, stared at my vulnerable, naked body lying before him.

I flushed and edged away from him, covering my lady parts, my insides boiled beneath his intense glare. Brows furrowed, he averted his gaze and laid beside me.

"Relax," Franklin said, he brushed my wet hair aside and cupped my chin. "It's just me, a'ight? Don't be shy—"

"I'm not shy," I grumbled. "At least, I'm not usually. Just around you, I guess…"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that. I'm flattered, baby." He clasped my thigh, and spread my legs apart. I shuddered, wet and aching to be filled, his finger dipped inside me. I gasped, gripping the mattress as he inserted yet another, and began to thrust into me. Franklin's touch was gentle, his pace slow, teasing and unhurried. My head swam, breath quaking under his influence. I arched my back, riding his fingers, soft moans crept through my lips.

"Shh," he smirked and kissed me, silencing me with his lips.

Franklin kissed me and kissed me, his blunt fingers thrusting deeper and deeper—I could barely think straight, I was melting, the amazing sensations had reduced my thoughts to a muddled mess. He was completely committed in his desire to comfort and satisfy me, he had put his own needs aside, and I was grateful for his selflessness. But I wanted him to feel nice too.

"Frank…" I murmured against his lips as he pleasured me, my voice barely audible, and choked with emotion.

He broke the kiss and gazed at me, our eye contact locked and steady. "You good?"

I nodded. "I wanna make you feel good too."

"Just chill. Don't worry 'bout me, I just wanna focus on you."

"Why can't we focus on each other?"

"You can make me feel good after, a'ight?"

"But I wanna make you feel good now. What if I don't feel like moving after?"

He grinned. "Nah, it's cool. You ain't gotta do too much for me to fuck…" His smile abruptly faded into a frown. "Shit, I ain't got no condom."

"So? We don't need one—"

"The fuck you mean? We ain't gonna find no damn mornin' after pills around here, and I ain't ready for no kids. I ain't responsible enough for that shit. I'm not even gonna risk it."

"Frank, you're like the most responsible thief and murderer ever, you'd take great care of your baby. Just hire a full-time nanny, you're rich."

"Yeah, a'ight. Tell my aunt that. That bitch is convinced I'm a fuckin' mistake."

"But we can post tons of adorable pictures of our biracial babies on Lifeinvader for everyone to see. Our babies will be so cute, the entire world will stalk our page. We'll totally prove your aunt wrong, she'll be so jealous of all our stalkers. Frank, impregnate me right now! What are you waiting for?"

Franklin snorted. "Girl, yo' narrow ass is crazy as shit, you know that?"

"Shut up."

I reached out to him, fumbling and tugging at the waistband of his joggers helplessly. He clasped my wrist, and steered my hand into his pants. Finally, I had found his cock, hard and throbbing, I fondled and squeezed him playfully.

He winced, his kisses came to an abrupt halt. He gripped my hand, and guided my palm up and down his thick shaft. With his instruction, I stroked him with rough, tantalizing slowness.

"Fuck…" Franklin sighed deeply, his brown skin flushed and glistening. "Just like that, baby—"

The painfully familiar click of my dad's signature dress shoes snapped me from my relaxed, lust-induced stupor. In an instant, the door swung open, and Daddy appeared, staring at us wide-eyed with his mouth gaping open like a fish on a hook.

Franklin and I froze, my heart literally skipped a beat.

Somebody please just kill me now…

* * *

 **Uh-oh, I think Frank and Tracey are in trouble lol. Whew! The fifth chapter down, it feels good! I hope you guys enjoyed it, this one was a lot of work to write, so show some love and leave a review! Please, let me know what you think. As always, your honest feedback and suggestions are truly inspiring, it really makes my day. I can't thank you enough for reading and supporting me on my journey to become a better writer! ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, I'm back with another update! I know y'all have been waiting for this, so let's get right to it. Sit back and enjoy the craziness :)**

* * *

The painfully familiar click of my dad's signature dress shoes snapped me from my relaxed, lust-induced stupor. In an instant, the door swung open, and Daddy appeared, staring at us wide-eyed as I held Franklin's throbbing erection in the palm of my hand.

Franklin and I froze, my heart literally skipped a beat. Oh my god, this can't be happening!

Trevor appeared at Dad's side, his dirty white V-neck stained with blood, he winced at the sight of Franklin and I. "Whoa, what the hell is going on in here?"

"Daddy! Uncle T!" I shot up into a stance, and scooped up my clothes. "W-what the heck are you guys doing here?" I asked as I scrambled about in a frantic hurry to dress my naked, trembling body.

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing here?" Dad asked, his fists clenched. "I came to check on my family for Christ's sake." His glare darted to Franklin. "F, what the fuck, man?"

"What on earth is going on?" Mom stormed into the room. "Tracey!" She gasped, her eyes shifted from me to Franklin. "Franklin! What are you doing with my daughter?"

"Mike, Amanda…" Franklin stood, and inched away from my parents, his head bowed. "It ain't what it looks like—"

"Baby, did you know about this?" Dad asked, glancing at Mom.

Mom shook her head. "I-I had my suspicions but—"

"Mmm, do y'all smell that?" Trevor tilted his stubbled chin and took in a long, deep whiff of air. "The lovely stench of cock, with a side of deceit and forbidden romance. Man, oh man, do I know it well… that's gotta be one of my favorite smells in the whole wide world."

"If it ain't what it looks like," Dad continued, "wanna explain why the hell Tracey had your dick in her hand, then? You tryna take advantage of my little girl, man?"

"U-uh, w-well…" Franklin fumbled over his words. "A lot of shit happened while y'all was gone, dog—"

"Dad, he's my boyfriend!" I shouted.

"Boyfriend?" Dad's brows raised. "The fuck?"

"That's right, Daddy." I slipped my hand into Franklin's pants, captured his penis, and stared into my dad's flinty eyes. "Franklin isn't taking advantage of me, okay? I love his dick, it's just as amazing as he is!"

Dad grimaced, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Holy fuck, are you nuts? Would you please put that thing away?"

"Boyfriend, huh?" Uncle T snorted. "Well, can you really blame her, Mikey? Just look at 'em! I've seen a hell of a lot of dicks in my day, and the kid has a pretty nice one if I do say so myself."

Jimmy's fat head appeared over Uncle T's shoulders. He gaped at Franklin's member. "Jesus! It's like twice the size of mine."

Mom flushed, licking her lips as she gave Franklin's exposed, muscled body a once-over. "It's like twice the size of yours too, Michael."

A slight rosiness crept across Franklin's cheeks. "Damn, y'all really think so? I mean, I always thought my shit was just average."

"Ah, humility," Uncle T smiled. "You hold onto that, kid."

"Alright, that's it!" Dad shouted. "I've had enough of this shit!" Fists clenched and muscles straining against his skin, he stormed off, and returned a moment later with a wooden baseball bat. My stomach dropped, gasps filled the air. There was glint of seething rage within Dad's eyes. I knew that deranged look all too well, he was about to do something crazy and there was no stopping him. I cowered, seeking shelter from the whirlwind of insanity Daddy was about to unleash.

"Ay, Michael," Franklin muttered, backpedaling toward the corner of the room, his hands held high in surrender. "C'mon, man, let's talk 'bout this, dog—"

With an inarticulate yell of rage, Dad barreled toward Franklin at full speed. Dad swung the bat at Franklin's head, but he ducked beneath the blow, and darted for the window. Franklin struck and shattered the glass with his elbow, and swiftly, he hopped out of it into the night, landing on the sandy ground gracefully.

Dad leaned out of the busted window and glared down at Franklin. "When did ya get so fast, you magnificent little fucker?"

"You an old ass motherfucker, Mike," Franklin shouted from below. "You can't keep up with me, man! You need to chill yo' old ass out before you get an aneurysm or some shit, dog!"

"This ain't over, prick. I'm coming down there, and I'm gonna shove this bat straight up your ass!"

Dad sped off for the door, but Uncle T blocked his path, stopping him in his tracks. "Mikey, relax. You're scaring the kids—"

"Stay the fuck outta my way, T," Dad grumbled. He flung out of the room, shoving Trevor aside, and strode away into the hall with a huff.

"Dad!" I followed behind him as he turned the corner and descended the stairs. "You're effing insane! Leave my boyfriend alone, he didn't do anything wrong!" I tapped his shoulder roughly. "Dad, stop! Are you even listening to me? You're ruining my life."

Blinded by fury, Daddy completely ignored me and continued his crazed warpath, storming out the front door of the house. His glare locked on Franklin, he charged at him once again, swinging the bat at my boyfriend wildly, like a complete friggin' psychopath. Franklin dodged Dad's flurry of heavy attacks, but he didn't strike back however. My heart skipped a beat with every blow my Dad threw at Franklin, my chest was literally caving in with worry.

My family crowded around me on the porch, and merely watched the heated confrontation commence. Barking filled the air. Chop darted out of the house, snarling viciously, the dog had set his beady sight on Dad in defense of his master. I latched onto Chop's collar, stopping his advance. Although Dad was a raging maniac who consistently ruins my life at every turn, I wasn't gonna let Chop chew him into tiny pieces, even though he kinda deserved it. Psycho or not, he was still my father at the end of the day.

"Michael," Mom called out. "You're taking this too far, you're going to pull a muscle, honey. Just put the bat down already!"

"Dad, don't hurt F-Dog," Jimmy yelled. "So what if he's boning Tracey? He saved our asses from cannibal hillbillies, you owe him! Giving him your daughter for the night sounds like a fair trade to me. She's kind of a slut anyway, she screws dudes for much less—"

"Hey, fat ass," Uncle T snapped. "Knock that shit off, alright? That's no way to talk about your sister." He threw his arms around Jimmy and I's shoulders, and continued to watch the fight with a wide grin. "Now how's this for family bonding, huh? Wow, look at them go! Now this is what I call quality entertainment. There's no need to waste a fortune at the theaters, we got all the action and drama we need right here at our very doorstep, baby!" He patted my head softly. "Why the long face, sweetie? Are you not entertained?"

"Seriously?" I shifted away from him. "Can somebody please do something? Dad is going to kill him!"

"Nah, I got my money on the kid." Uncle T dug into his jean pocket, and yanked out a twenty-dollar bill. "Sugar tits doesn't stand a chance. Hey, anybody wanna place bets?"

"I got fifteen on Dad," Jimmy said.

"That's the spirit," Uncle T exclaimed. "Bob and weave, Frankie! Bob and fuckin' weave!"

I rolled my eyes. It's official, my family really is insane.

After a painfully long minute of evading my dad's frenzied swings, Franklin managed to capture the handle of the bat. Dad's hasty attacks ended abruptly as the two men wrestled with one another over the weapon, their legs spread wide and feet rooted in the ground.

"You ain't gotta do this, man," Franklin muttered between clenched teeth. "Just put the motherfuckin' bat down, and let's talk this shit out, dog. You bein' childish, homie."

"That's my little girl, F," Dad argued. "She's just a baby, you slimy motherfucker!" Dad's tunnel vision on Franklin suddenly broke, and he gazed over Franklin's broad shoulder. "Oh shit, it's Madrazo!"

"What? Where?" Franklin turned his head and glanced at the darkness behind him. Dad used Franklin's moment of distraction to his advantage, and drove his knee hard into Franklin's stomach. He gasped, a tight groan of pain escaped his lips as he bucked over onto the sand.

"Jesus, kid!" Uncle T exclaimed. "That's the oldest trick in the book. How the hell could ya fall for that?"

Dad smirked. "Not so fast now, are ya? How's that feel, motherfucker?"

"Man…" Franklin coughed, clenching his stomach. "It feels like I've been bamboozled, dog. That shit hurt like a motherfucker…"

"Frank!" My grip still tight on Chop's collar, I scampered down the porch steps. "Are you okay?"

He held his palm out to me, signaling me to stay back. "I-I'm good…"

"Your boyfriend ain't gonna be good for long," Dad said, raising his bat.

"Eat dirt, cheap ass motherfucker," Franklin scooped up a fistful of sand and flung it at Dad's face.

"Fuck, my eyes!" Dad dropped his weapon and stumbled back, he clawed at his eyelids in a desperate attempt to wipe away the impurities blinding his sight. "You fucking motherfucker!"

Franklin attempted to scramble into a stance, but Dad quickly regained his composure, and hopped on top of him. He locked his arms around Franklin's neck, pinning him down with a headlock.

"I got you now," Dad spat, his face twisted into a sneer. "Ain't no way you're getting out of this. Tap out, fucker! Tap out, and I'll let you go."

Franklin's muscled body grew still. He wheezed, struggling for oxygen. I took a step forward to aid him, but his palm shot up into the air once again, gesturing me to keep back. Reluctantly, I obeyed his demand. Chop was getting restless, he jumped and jerked about, attempting to wrangle himself free from my grip, his barking grew louder and louder. It was a struggle trying to hold the powerful animal back.

I felt woozy and lightheaded, I wasn't sure how much more of this craziness I could take.

"I said tap out, you treacherous piece of shit," Dad said.

"Fuck you," Franklin grumbled between rasping breaths. "I've a-always… been with you… despite all the crazy shit, never… betrayed you…"

Dad frowned, "Fuck, I know that, F," he muttered, his voice wavering. "You've always been a good kid, you're like a son to me."

"You're… a dad to me, dog. T-the pops I ain't… never had."

"I fuckin' love you, man."

"So… why you tryna c-choke a nigga out then?"

"You took advantage of my baby girl. You crossed the fucking line, Frank."

"I ain't… sorry."

"What was that? The fuck did you just say?"

"I-I said I ain't sorry—"

"Alright, alright," Uncle T raced over to the scuffling men. "That's enough ladies, I'm getting bored." He latched onto Dad's shoulders, yanking him off Franklin. Dad collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily.

Franklin coughed and coughed, gasping for air. I released Chop and ran to him, my sweaty, trembling hands cupped his rugged cheeks. "Frank…" I murmured, tracing my fingertips over his bruised neck lightly. Tears stung my eyes, blurring my sight. "A-are you okay?"

He replied with a weak nod. Chop took his side, whimpering sadly as he inspected his wounded master. He nuzzled Franklin's shoulder with his furry head, and offered him a few small licks to console him.

"I told you to stay the fuck outta this, T," Dad huffed. "This shit don't concern you."

"Mikey, I'm not gonna let you kill the kid, alright? He's our lovechild, our prodigy, it'd be a real fuckin' waste to bury him after everything we've taught him. Now could ya hurry up and stop being so emotional? The job ain't done yet, Madrazo is still breathing. Your kids are in danger, you selfish prick." Trevor reached a hand out to Dad. "C'mon lard ass. We got shit to do."

"Fuck you," Dad swatted Trevor's hand away, and scrambled into a stance. He gripped my shoulder tightly. "Tracey, get back in the house, now. You're grounded—"

"Dad, isn't Tracey too old to get grounded?" Jimmy yelled.

"Shut your pie hole, Jim," Dad snapped. "Before I ground you next!"

"Screw you!" I jerked from his grip. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Daddy. You can't tell me what to do."

"As long as your living under my roof, and spending my money, you're gonna do exactly what I say."

"Fine," I took Franklin's hand and helped him to his feet. "You can keep your stupid, illegal blood money, and choke on it for all I care. You've ruined my life for the last effing time! You're dead to me, Daddy!" I stormed off with Franklin, and forged toward the dark dirt road, Chop followed at my heels. "Me and my boyfriend are leaving, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Tracey," Dad called out to me. "Come back here! Don't you walk away from me! Get back in the house—"

"Too late, psycho! I hate that piece of crap house, and I hate you for making us live in it."

"You know what—screw this! If this is the thanks I get for trying to protect my family, then it ain't worth it," Dad turned, and stomped off toward the house. "It's only a matter of time before you come crawling back anyway, you won't last a single night out there!"

"Honey, don't do this," Mom shouted. "It's too dangerous! Where are you going to go?"

"Anywhere but here," I retorted.

"Whoa, slow your roll, princess," Uncle T jogged after us. "Where the hell are you kids going?"

"Away," I grumbled. "We rather live in the desert among the snakes, coyotes and cannibal hillbillies than deal with this crap."

"What?" Franklin grimaced, his voice scratchy. He froze in his tracks. "Speak for yourself, girl. I ain't goin' back out there. You remember all the bullshit we had to go through? Nuh-uh, fuck that."

"We don't have a choice," I gazed at Franklin. "We don't have a car, and my dad isn't gonna let you back in the house. He almost killed you a second ago, remember?"

"Shit, I rather Michael just bat my ass out right here and now, 'cause we don't stand a motherfuckin' chance tryna survive out there."

"Wait!" Uncle T appeared in front of us. He clutched the back of Franklin's neck roughly. "Look at me, kid. You got your ass handed to you back there. You alright?"

"Man, like you give a shit," Franklin pulled away, his jaw clenched. "What took you so fuckin' long to jump in? Michael almost killed my ass, dog."

"Hey, let's talk about this in the car, kid. I'll give you guys a ride anywhere you wanna go."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yep," Uncle T nodded. "It's either that, or you can go fend for yourselves in the desert, and most likely get killed. I don't need that kinda shit on my conscience, and neither does your father, so c'mon." He turned away.

I glanced at Franklin for his approval. He nodded, and we set off after Uncle T. He led us to his rusted, red pickup truck parked beside the house. Franklin and I climbed into the passenger seats, and Chop jumped in the back. Uncle T slipped into the driver's seat, and started the ignition. The old, shabby vehicle came to life, its bright headlights pierced the surrounding shadows, illuminating the dirt road ahead. Uncle T leaned on the gas, the engine whined loudly as we squealed off onto the bumpy path.

The inside of the truck stunk of cigarette smoke, beer and piss. It was a nauseating stench, my stomach churned. I opened the car window, and basked in the fresh, night air, the wind whipped through my hair, and whistled in my ears.

"What a night, huh?" Uncle T asked, he glanced at Franklin through the windshield mirror. "I know you're pissed I didn't come to your rescue sooner, kid. But that heated battle of dominance between you and Michael was act of nature, okay? Survival of the fittest, natural selection—animals and men alike have been settling their differences through brutal combat since the beginning of time. Can you really blame me for my lack of enthusiasm in disrupting the very course of nature itself?"

"Whatever, dog," Franklin retorted, his voice deadpan, he stared blankly out the window.

"Don't be such a sore loser, man. It's fine, everyone gets their shit kicked in sometimes. And y'know, you kinda deserved it. Mikey sent you here to protect his kids, not make them jerk you off—"

Fists clenched, I blurted, "No! It's not like that, Franklin didn't make me do anything. He's my boyfriend, it was consensual."

"Sure, whatever," Uncle T snorted. "I'm not here to discuss the details of your strange, terribly timed puppy love. You two can fuck each other's brains out for all I care, just be safe about it, alright? I know what it's like when you're young, hormones are constantly raging, it's tempting to get down and dirty anywhere and everywhere, alleyways, parks, abandoned buildings, your parent's house—but you gotta fight the temptation. 'Cause as you can see, when you don't, things can go wrong, very wrong. Even though sex is a great, wonderfully natural thing, it can also be scary, like a graveyard or a psychopath—two things that happen to go great with sex, might I add. Anyway, it's important that you kids use protection, within the privacy of four walls, preferably—"

"You seriously givin' us the safe sex talk right now?" Franklin asked. "The fuck we look like? Pimpled face teenagers? Everybody up in this car is grown as shit, and if there's anyone here who does need the safe sex talk, it's yo' crazy ass."

"Well, it's not like you've ever had a father to give you one," Uncle T replied. "Fortunately for you, I'm twice the man he is, and will happily take up the responsibility as your father figure in his absence."

"Man, will you stop with that shit already? How many times I gotta tell you my fucked up childhood ain't nothin' to joke 'bout—"

"Yeah, yeah," Uncle T let out an exaggerated yawn. "Anyway, aren't you two glad I'm here? If I hadn't offered you a ride, you guys would be drifting aimlessly through the desert yet again. The smart choice would have been to beg Michael for forgiveness and shelter for the night, but knowing how stubborn you two can be, I doubt that woulda happened. I bet you two would rather wither away in the sand, right?"

"I would," I said. "I'm tired of Dad controlling my life, I rather kill myself than spend another moment under his roof."

"Bein' overly dramatic runs in the family, don't it?" Franklin asked.

"Dramatic, sure, but a totally respectable decision regardless," Uncle T replied. "At least you woulda died with your pride, sweetheart."

"But how do you know for sure we would had died?" I asked. "We survived being stranded in the desert once, we could do it again."

Uncle T shook his head. "You got lucky. The gritty truth of the matter is, city slickers like you don't know jack shit about surviving out here. It takes perseverance, smarts, and a shitload of know-how and survival skills to last in this kind of wasteland. And you two happen to lack not one, but all of those qualities, perseverance especially, considering Frank's always been a bit of a pussy—"

"Fuck you," Franklin muttered.

"You guys barely made it back here before," Uncle T continued. "But it's alright, 'cause no one's gonna die, not on my watch. I love you both like a father, y'know? If you weren't so dumb Tracey, and if Frank wasn't so black, I'd think you two were my very own offspring. I've spread my seeds around so much, only god knows how many mini-mes are running around. It makes me sick just thinking about it, but that's beside the point."

Uncle T paused, and made a sharp turn off the dirt path. We navigated along the smooth, empty streets of Paleto Bay.

"It's a shame Michael treats you two like shit," Uncle T said. "When enraged, the guy can't be reasoned with. He doesn't know any better, but I do. I know all about fatherhood and parenting. I've never raised a kid of my own, per se, but with enough love, nurturing and patience, I've shaped lesser men into greater men. Like Franklin for example. Before we met, he was a poor, lowly gangbanger, struggling to make ends meet, wasting away his potential doing petty crimes with the homies…"

Although it wasn't easy, I managed to tune out Uncle T's chatter, and my sight settled on Franklin. He sagged in his seat with his eyes closed, touching a hand to his temple, a vein in his forehead ticked and throbbed. I wanted to reach out to him so bad, but now wasn't the time. He probably needed space, not being able to keep our hands off one another was the reason we were in this mess in the first place. I clenched my fists, forcing my hands into submission.

"So, where we headed, Frank?" Uncle T asked.

"Drop us off at my crib, man," Franklin answered. "I need a change of clothes, homie. I'll figure out our next move when we get there, dog."

"I suggest you pack your shit, and get the hell outta Los Santos as soon as you're done. You have a lot more to worry about than the ordinary petty thugs, and plastic dickbags that silicone city is riddled with. This shitstorm with Madrazo hasn't blown over yet, despite the dozens of brainless lackeys Michael and I have buried already. There's plenty of motels scattered across San Andreas for you to lay low at in the meantime. Most of 'em are seedy, and a teeny bit creepy, but they sure do have character."

"What's taking so long to get this guy?" I asked. "I thought you and Dad were good at getting rid of people."

"Sorry to disappoint you, sweetie, but getting rid of the most powerful drug cartel in LS isn't a walk in the park," Uncle T said. "Seems like they've got the Vagos working for them too, which complicates the fuck out of things. Hopefully, if we cut off the head of the tiger, Madrazo himself, the Mexicans might back off."

"For real?" Franklin rose his thick brows. "That's y'all brilliant plan? You finna creep on the leader of the most powerful drug cartel in LS, bury his ass, and then hope that all them other cats the motherfucker is allied with will just forgive and forget 'bout it, like shit ain't never happened?"

"Sounds about right," Uncle T replied casually. "Why? You got a better plan, Frankie?"

"Nah, but shit, dog, there's gotta be somethin' else y'all can do to settle this shit. If you clip Madrazo, some other angry motherfucker will just take his place, and best believe that dude is gon' retaliate on some vengeance, eye for an eye bullshit. They finna come at our asses even harder. Them eses ain't gon' forget 'bout shit, man."

"Madrazo's whole operation is governed by fearmongering, scare tactics, brutal hazing rituals and the occasional circle jerk session. In other words, it's one big, fat fraternity that's all gonna come crashing down," Uncle T's voice deepened, his face twisted into a sneer, "once I put a bullet in that sick, woman beating asshole's skull. I'm gonna destroy that egotistical, drug pushing fuck!"

"Chill, homie. It sounds like you got a motherfuckin' vendetta against this fool. I hope that shit don't blow up in all our faces, dog."

Uncle T smirked. "Just you wait and see, kid. I'm gonna make him wish he was never born, and it's gonna be fuckin' glorious."

* * *

We arrived at Vinewood Hills a quarter-past midnight. Despite Dad and Uncle T's warnings regarding our safety, it felt good to be back in familiar territory. I missed the noisy city streets, and the dazzling skyscrapers towering overhead. The city's beautiful mess of bright, intertwining lights glimmered like falling stars, illuminating the smog-filled sky. Oddly enough, it was a relief to witness so many unfamiliar faces wandering about nearby. No hillbillies, snakes or coyotes—just regular, everyday people, thank god.

Los Santos was a crazy place, but I belonged here.

Once we made it to Franklin's place, Uncle T glided the car into a stop within the driveway, and glanced at me. "Tracey, go help your boyfriend pack, will ya? There's a few things I gotta take care of, I'll be back in a jiffy. We'll find somewhere for you kids to lay low, yeah?"

"It's cool, dog," Franklin grumbled as he exited the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. "Take yo' motherfuckin' time, 'cause runnin' ain't gonna change shit. We're all fucked anyway." Fists clenched, he forged for his house, disappearing through the front door. Chop hopped from the back of the truck, and sped after him.

I frowned, reluctantly making my way out of the car. Uh-oh, someone's in a bad mood again. Maybe it'd be best if I avoided him until he was feeling better.

"Poor kid," Uncle T shook his head. "He must be having a rough time, y'know? Getting his ass kicked in front of everyone, it had to be really, really humiliating to go through that. Well, sucks to be him. Shit like that will either break you or make you stronger, but Frank's a good kid. I'm sure he'll get over the traumatizing experience in no time. Anyway, see ya in a bit, kiddo."

He stepped on the gas and swerved out of the driveway. Sighing heavily, I entered the house, and secured the locks just to be safe. A musty, smoky odor lingered in the air. I stamped in the direction of the strange scent. Turning the corner into the living room, I found Franklin on the couch with a glass bong raised to his lips. Chop laid at his feet, sleeping soundly as his master inhaled a thick cloud of smoke from the bong's mouthpiece.

Franklin exhaled, coughing as the harsh fumes escaped his lungs, and wafted into the air.

I sat beside him and pat his broad back as he choked. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, his rasping cough quickly ceased. "I'm good," he said, his voice weak. "My throat's sore as shit, that's all."

"Now's a really bad time to be smoking weed." I grabbed the bong and set it aside. "My insane dad almost choked the life out of you earlier, you should seriously give your lungs a break. Aren't you supposed to be packing?"

"Nah."

"What do you mean? Uncle T is expecting you to have your stuff packed by the time he gets back."

Lips pressed into a fine line, he slumped into the couch cushions and closed his eyes.

"Frank?" I asked. "Hello? I'm talking to you."

He didn't respond.

"Seriously? You're ignoring me now?" I poked his bare stomach.

He winced. "Don't start with that shit again. It's irritatin' as fuck."

"Then stop ignoring me. Say something."

"The fuck you want me to say?"

"Something, anything—I can't take the silent treatment. I need to know what you're thinking." I sighed. "Are you mad at me?"

Franklin merely shook his head. I jabbed my finger into his gut once again. "Damn!" He cringed, glaring at me. "You finna find out how mad I am when I break yo' little ass fingers. Go ahead, keep fuckin' around, I'ma snap that shit in two."

"Aw, you're such a big, grumpy bear," I grinned, and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "You're bluffing, you won't hurt me. You love me."

His tight expression cracked, a weak smile graced his handsome face. "You finna drive my ass crazy, girl."

"You're already crazy."

"We both are. How'd you know I was bluffing?"

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, I trust you. You can be as mean, and cranky as you want, but you can't push me away, I won't let you. Deep down, I know that's not what you want."

Franklin snorted. "Uh-huh. You got a nigga all figured out, huh?"

"Not exactly. You still haven't told me why you decided to get high instead of packing."

"'Cause I ain't goin' nowhere. Fuck that, I'm tired of runnin'."

"But Uncle T said it isn't safe to be here—"

"So? LS ain't never been safe. You're the one who should leave. I can handle my shit. You can't."

Franklin stood, and strode out of the living room.

"Hey!" I stomped behind him into the narrow hall, and followed him down the stairs. "Where the heck am I supposed to go? I ditched my crazy family for you, remember?"

"I ain't ask you to do that shit." He turned into his dim-lit bedroom, and slammed the door in my face.

"Seriously?" Heat licked my skin, and my muscles trembled. I fumbled with the doorknob noisily, but the door wouldn't budge. "What the hell, Frank? You're being a douche!"

"Trace," his voice seeped beneath the doorway. "Can a nigga have a moment of fuckin' privacy? Is that too damn much to ask for?"

A hot surge of pain welled up inside of me. Fists clenched and in desperate need of an outlet, I punched the door. **_Bam!_** "Screw your privacy!" I shouted. "I'm trying to talk to you, you can't just shut me out—"

"Calm yo' crazy ass down, girl. It ain't like that, I'm changin' my clothes. Give me a fuckin' second, a'ight?"

"Who cares if I see you naked? You're like, the hottest person I know, and I know a lot of people. You should be proud to show off your junk."

"I think I showed off enough of my dick for one day. Your whole family knows what the fuck I'm workin' with."

"Lucky them, right?"

"Nah, ain't a damn thang lucky 'bout it. This whole situation is real fucked up, Trace."

"Babe, you're being emotional."

"Fuck you, I'm the only rational motherfucker in this scenario. You and the rest of yo' family is crazy as shit."

The door opened, and Franklin emerged with his clean, new duds—tanned leather boots, black joggers, and a white V-neck shirt. Unsurprisingly, every article of his clothing had a designer logo etched across it, the expensive fabric of his attire was spotless and just as perfect as the day he bought it. I smiled, typical Franklin, he always dressed to impress.

"If I'm so crazy," I cupped his stubbled cheek, "then why even waste the time putting up with me? Why don't you find some boring, ordinary girl instead?"

He sighed. "I put up with yo' crazy ass 'cause I like you, a'ight? Shit, I'm a little crazy myself, but your crazy and my crazy go together real well, you don't judge me like other bitches do. You put up with my bullshit, so it's only fair that I put up with yours, you feel me?" Franklin seized my hand, and guided me back upstairs to the living room. We reclaimed our seats on the couch, our knees brushed. "You said you wanted to talk, right?" He gazed at me, his palm cupped my thigh. "So, go ahead and speak, baby. I'm listenin'."

"You don't really want me to go, do you?" I asked.

"Nah, course I don't want you to go. But I told you I ain't runnin' no more, it ain't safe to stay here with me."

"I can't go back to my dad, Franklin. Not after what he did. If I keep giving him a pass for being a lunatic, then he won't ever stop."

"Yeah, I feel you." Franklin pulled me into his warm embrace, his large arms locked around my waist. "Man, that shit back there with your pops coulda gone much better. I'm sorry, baby." I brushed my fingers through his short hair as he spoke. "I've seen Michael angry before, but damn, that motherfucker was on a whole new level today. Why'd you tell him I was your boyfriend?"

"Because that's the truth, right?"

"I uh… I guess," he muttered.

I blinked. "What do you mean, 'you guess'?"

"I mean, you oughta give a nigga a heads up before you start throwin' labels on 'em, you feel me? I didn't know we were goin' steady, I must had missed the fuckin' memo."

"Well, I didn't know what else to call you. If we aren't a couple, then what are we?"

"Fuck if I know," he sighed. "I feel like I fucked up a happy home takin' yo' ass away from your family. I knew your pops would lose his shit if he found out 'bout me and you, but I wasn't prepared for everythin' to go this fuckin' wrong. I wanna be with you, but after everythin' that just happened, I ain't too sure 'bout us."

I frowned, my stomach curdled into panic. I had grown so attached to him, the thought of us breaking apart made my chest ache. "Hey, don't say things like that…"

Franklin pecked my lips, his nose nuzzled mine sweetly. "Relax, baby. I'm still down for you, a'ight? I'm just thinkin' out loud. You wanted to get in my head, so here you go."

"I want to be with you, Frank," I mumbled. "I wouldn't had ditched my family for you if I didn't."

"You shouldn't have, girl. I didn't ask you to do that for me—"

"I don't care. You know what? Screw my stupid parents, and everybody else." I clasped his chin, his gaze met mine. "Let's drop everything and leave, Frank. Just you and me."

Brows furrowed, Franklin shook his head. "Trace, we've been through this shit already. I ain't leavin'."

"Just listen to me, okay? I know you don't want to run, but think about it how amazing it'd be to finally get away from all the drama and craziness. We could go anywhere, London, Paris, Italy, maybe even Jamaica or Spain. We could travel all over the entire world and do whatever the heck we want. No more responsibilities, no more bad guys, no more overprotective dads—"

"Nah," Franklin abruptly tore away from me, his bulging muscles quivered. "Travelin' the world with you, it's a cool idea, babe. But you ain't thinkin' straight. Try lookin' at this shit from my point of view, I ain't never had a family like yours, you feel me? They love you, and the last thing I wanna do is get in the middle of that shit. Why would you wanna be with heartless, rigid ass motherfucker like me anyway?"

"Frank—"

"There's somethin' wrong with me, a'ight? I'm violent, and moody, I got a problem with authority, I don't feel shit like normal people do. When I ain't angry or depressed, I'm just empty. Why the fuck…"

He paused, his eyes darted to a picture frame propped on the hardwood table. Within the frame was a worn photograph of him and an older black woman. He was younger, but muscular still, he had to be a teenager back then. My heart swelled with warmth. Franklin looked so happy in the picture, he smiled wide, his eyes bright and innocent. Who was the woman? They had the same deep brown eyes. Could that be his mother?

"Frank, who is she?" I asked.

"Nobody," he murmured. "Just another drug addict ass fool like me."

I frowned. Franklin was a damaged man, he buried the pain of his troubled past so deep inside him, his grief had cut deep into his very soul. Maybe the pain and despair he endured had stripped him of his humanity, he rushed into danger without fear of death, he could kill without remorse. Although his profound sadness would usually emerge for only a fleeting moment, like a flickering light in the darkness, tonight was different.

Franklin stood there in silence, eyes glossy, fatigue engraved on his rugged face. Tears brimmed on his eyelids. He wasn't hiding his pain anymore. Instead, he let it fall, a single, pearl-shaped tear escaped his eye and made its descent along his broad cheekbone to his chin. My heart sunk witnessing him cry. I hated it, I never wanted to see him unhappy.

I ran into his strong arms, and clung to him the tightest I could. "I'm so sorry," I whimpered tearfully. "I'm so sorry. It's not fair, it's not effing fair. I-I wish I could go back in time. I'd change everything, I'd protect you from all the bad things, I'd save you the same way you always save me…"

"I know, baby, I know," Franklin's arms locked around me, his lone tear dripped from his stubbled, trembling chin. He gazed at me, his eyes wet and glistening. "But you don't need a time machine, or magical powers to make me happy, a'ight sweetie? I'm all good, 'cause I got you. You already saved me. You're all I need, baby."

Franklin planted a soft kiss on my forehead. I beamed, my face burned with heat. "I really like you," I mumbled. "I didn't think it was possible to like someone so friggin' much in such a short time, but I don't care. I want you. So, stop doubting yourself and just be with me already."

"I'm really feelin' you too, girl," he formed a sad smile. "But things ain't that simple, I can't be with you, not yet. The timing's all fucked up, our lives is way the fuck outta control—"

"When is it ever going to be the right time, Frank?" I sighed heavily. "There's always something going on, and whenever we do catch a break, my dad or Uncle T does something crazy and puts us all back in danger again. It's a never-ending cycle. I get that you're not the type of guy to run from a fight, but if there's any chance of you ever settling down and having a normal life, you're going to have to make a choice—"

A sudden **_crash_ **came from downstairs. My body shuddered, Franklin and I sprang up from the couch.

What the heck was that noise?

The heavy thud of multiple footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor, forging our way. Chop jerked awake, and shot up into a stance, his floppy ears raised high and alert. A soft growl slipped through the animal's bared teeth.

"Franklin, where are you, my boy?" A throaty, unfamiliar voice with a thick Hispanic accent reverberated throughout the house. "I know you're in here…"

Franklin's eyes widened, the blood drained from his face. "Madrazo…" He muttered under his breath.

"F-Frank?" I stammered. "W-what are we—"

Franklin pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me, his eyes darted to Chop. "Ay," he whispered. "Clear out and go get help, little homie."

As if the dog had perfect comprehension of the English language, Chop whirled around and bolted through the glass, backdoor exit, disappearing into the night. My jaw dropped. I knew Chop was a smart dog, but… did that really just happen?

The footsteps were getting louder and louder.

Franklin sped across the living room to a red, abstract painting hanging on the wall. He yanked the framed portrait down, a sleek, black shotgun laid hidden behind it. He swept the deadly weapon into his grasp, and pressed his back to the wall, taking cover beside the living room doorway. He glanced at me, and pointed a finger at the backdoor. "Go," he mouthed soundlessly.

I glanced at the rear exit, and then back at Franklin. It would had been easy to make my escape, but I couldn't muster the cowardice to leave him behind. "Not without you," I murmured.

A rifle leapt into view from the hall. I yelped, and ducked behind the couch.

 ** _Bang! Bang! Bang!_**

In an instant, the quiet house had transformed into an ear-splitting battlefield, bullets zipped through the air, damaging the expensive furniture, and penetrating the walls surrounding me. I shuddered violently, my heart thudded hard as the hail of bullets continuously rained down, the automatic gunfire seemed never-ending.

"Y'all bitches really want me, huh?" Franklin shouted as he fired shots into the hall at our enemies.

"Just give it up, kid," the throaty voice yelled. "You're outmatched, you're outgunned—you're a deadman!"

"Then come and get me, pussy motherfucker!"

A shadow hovered over me. I glanced up. My stomach dropped.

Diego stood over me, a handgun within his closed fist. I gaped at him, slack-jawed, my body froze in place.

But how? What was he doing here?

He latched onto my arm roughly, and yanked me to my feet. Trapped within his bruising grasp, he pressed the cold steel of his gun against my head.

"Franklin!" I wailed, my sight blurred with tears.

Franklin diverted his attention to me, nostrils flared and jaw clenched, he rose his shotgun on Diego.

"Drop it, cabrón," Diego demanded. The gunfire came to an abrupt halt, silence had reclaimed the house. "Don't make me kill her."

"I'd listen to him if I were you," a middle-aged Mexican dude in a tailored suit strolled into the room, his polished dress shoes tapped against the floor with every step. There was a bloodied bandage wrapped tight around his head. A herd of short, heavily tattooed thugs piled into the room behind him, all of them wielding machine guns. They surrounded us, and aimed their weapons at Franklin coolly, their guns cocked to the side.

Franklin gazed at the dude in the fancy suit, and swallowed deeply, his muscles trembled. "Madrazo…" He cautiously lowered his shotgun to the floor. "The fuck you doin' here, dog? Ain't you got more important shit to do than fuck around with my ass?"

"Unfortunately, I don't," Madrazo said as he kicked Franklin's gun aside. "If you don't mind, you're going to have to speak a little louder, kid. My ears don't work as good as they used to. Anyway, an informant of mine told me you were back in town, and I figured, maybe I'd take advantage of the opportunity. What better way to hurt the psychopath who cut off my ears, stole my car, and kidnapped my wife than to put a bullet in his black son?"

"What?" Franklin grimaced. "The fuck you talkin' 'bout? Trevor ain't my pops."

"What?" Madrazo and his goons exchanged wary glances with one another. "What do you mean? You're not adopted?"

"No, I ain't fuckin' adopted."

"Trevor told me you were like a son to him. I put two and two together, figured maybe you were adopted." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well, not that it matters, anyway. I'm still going to kill you, and everybody you love, Michael and Trevor included, those thieving little pricks. I'm sick and tired of you three cunts meddling in my business. If only I had known what a pain in ass you fuckers would be, I would had slaughtered you the day you pulled my multimillion-dollar property off a fucking cliff—"

"What about our deal, ese?" Diego asked, his gaze on Madrazo.

"What deal?" Franklin asked.

Madrazo gravitated to Diego, and threw an arm over his shoulder as he held me at gunpoint. "This guy right here sold you out, kid," Madrazo grinned. "How do you think we found you? The gay boy told me all about your big, extravagant house in Vinewood hills, and in exchange, he begged for my mercy and forgiveness for his crimes, his slate wiped clean."

"Motherfucker," Franklin sneered. Nostrils flaring, and veins straining against his flushed skin, he took a menacing step toward Diego. Two of Madrazo's goons quickly latched onto him, stopping him in his tracks. "I shoulda clipped yo' shady ass when I had the fuckin' chance."

"No hard feelings, amigo," Diego said. "We do what we have to do to survive, ese. I'm sorry—"

"Bullcrap," I grumbled. "We trusted you, asshole."

Madrazo opened his suit jacket, and fished out a switchblade from within. Slowly, he freed the sharp blade from its handle. "You know," Madrazo said, "I've been thinking a lot about our deal, Diego."

"You have?" Diego's brows raised.

"Sure, and I just wanted you to know that I forgive you, kid. You fulfilled your end of the bargain. Congratulations!" With a sudden, quick swipe, Madrazo cut Diego's bearded throat. He dropped his handgun, blood spilled from his neck, and squirted all over my face and chest.

"Ew!" I squealed at the top of my lungs, and scrambled away. Gross, my outfit was ruined!

Diego collapsed, a pool of red stained the carpeted floor.

"Good fuckin' riddance," Franklin muttered. "Man, I wish I coulda done that shit myself."

Madrazo shook his head. "Quite the snake in the grass, wasn't he? The cutthroat bastard outlived his usefulness." He glanced at me. "Sorry about the blood, sweetheart. You're Michael's daughter, Tracey correct?"

I nodded stiffly.

"I saw your Fame or Shame audition, quite the show you put on. My good for nothing wife loved it." He reached a hand out to me. "Now be a good little girl and come here, so I can stab you to death. It'll be quick and humane, hopefully. I would just shoot you, but I'm in more of a stabby kinda mood today—"

"You don't have to do this," I whimpered, my muscles twitching. "P-please," I begged tearfully. "Just let us go."

"Ay!" Franklin blurted out, struggling to wrangle himself free of the hands restraining him. "That's my baby right there, man. Don't hurt her, dog," he pleaded, his broad shoulders heaved with emotion. "She's innocent, she ain't do nothin' wrong. I'm the one you want. If you tryna get back at T, kill me—"

"Somebody shut him up already!" Madrazo snapped.

One of Madrazo's men gravitated to Franklin, and whipped him across the face with the butt of his gun. **_Pow!_** Franklin flinched, his head jerked to the side from the forceful blow.

"Frank!" I cried.

Nostrils flaring, he spat out a hunk of blood, and glared at the armed man before him. "I'ma kill all y'all stupid ese motherfuckers."

Obnoxious laughter filled the room. "This fool is loco," the thug standing before Franklin grinned. "We know who you are, homes. You're CGF trash, a dead man walking, ese. We're gonna skin your pretty little girlfriend alive, then we're gonna put a bullet between your eyes, vato—"

A strange **_swooshing_** noise came from outside, a strong, blinding beam penetrated the room's massive windows overlooking the city skyline. I peered in the direction of the bright light. My heart skipped a beat. A military grade helicopter equipped with large, rotary machine guns hovered low and steady outside the windows, the droning hum of the aircraft's blades filled the night sky.

"Long time, no see, Martin," Uncle T's voice blurted from the helicopter's loudspeaker. "I heard you were looking for me. Well, here I am, dipshit. You like my new toy? I borrowed it from Merryweather a couple months back. Pretty nice, huh?"

"Son of a bitch…" Madrazo muttered under his breath, staring incredulously at the attack helicopter. "Kill him! Vamos! Take out that fucking chopper!"

The thugs set their sights of Uncle T's chopper, and squeezed the trigger of their guns. Their gunfire shattered the glass windows, but failed to penetrate the armored aircraft's metal and bulletproof windows. I ducked low and scrambled behind the couch for cover.

"Aw, that's cute," Uncle T said. "Jesus, you idiots give illegal immigrants a bad name! Welp, I guess it's time I do this country a solid and thin out the herd."

The helicopter's miniguns began to spin at a dizzying pace. Franklin vaulted over the couch, and threw himself on top of me, pinning me down, his large body serving as a shield. I clung to him, and closed my eyes. The frenzied shooting suddenly grew louder, my ears began to ring, screams pierced the air, the floorboards beneath us quaked, police sirens wailed in the distance.

After a moment or two, the gunfire and screaming finally fizzled out, but the police sirens were still closing in. Franklin pulled away. I opened my eyes, and cautiously poked my head out from the couch. There wasn't a single man left standing, but the neat, cozy living room had been reduced to a disaster zone. Blood, broken glass and corpses were scattered about the carpeted floor, the walls and furniture were laced with gaping holes, the widescreen TV mounted on the wall was damaged beyond repair, the screen cracked and smoking.

Franklin gaped at his destroyed home, his limbs trembled. "Awh, fuck! Goddamn, look at this motherfucker…"

"At least we're still alive, right?" I sniffed, and pat his shoulder. "Things could always be worse."

He glanced at me. "Don't jinx it, Trace."

"You lovebirds oughta clear outta there, and fast," Uncle T warned. "The boys in blue are coming in hot. I'll hold 'em off, you can thank me later. Now get moving." The helicopter pulled away, disappearing overhead.

With little time to waste, Franklin and I scurried out of the house to the driveway. We hopped on his polished, chrome sprayed motorcycle, revved up the engine and zoomed onto the street to make our grand escape.

We drove and we drove, weaving in and out of city's midnight traffic, the speedometer nudged to seventy. The squeal of police sirens faded in the distance. Franklin made a sudden sharp right off the road and we glided into a dark alleyway tucked between two red brick buildings. Safely concealed within the night's shadows, Franklin cut the bike's engine before a dumpster. The stink of rotting garbage and spoiled food wafted from within. My stomach rolled. Ugh, the alley smelled horrible.

Franklin exhaled loudly and hunched over, resting his forehead on the motorcycle's fairings. I sighed deeply, the tension in my shoulders dissolved. I sniffed, wiping the tears from my eyes. It seemed like we were in the clear for now. We lingered in the calm, quiet darkness for quite some time before Franklin rose from the bike. He cupped my chin and inspected me with a critical eye.

"You a'ight, baby?" Franklin asked, his voice soft.

"I think so," I muttered, touching a finger over his bruised cheek. He winced. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

"I'm good," he feigned a smile. "You got a lot of blood on you, baby. We gotta get you cleaned up. You sure you a'ight? Come here," Franklin drew me into his warm, comforting embrace, his fingers smoothed through my hair. "Fuck, them eses weren't playin', girl. I almost lost yo' cute ass."

"Can't get rid of me that easy," I mumbled, my face buried in his broad chest. "We got lucky, Frank."

"Real fuckin' lucky. Shit, I didn't think we'd make it." Franklin's pants abruptly lit up, and vibrated rhythmically. He tugged his phone from his pocket and glanced at the bright screen. "Shit, it's Lamar," he grumbled. "The fuck this nigga want now?"

"Answer it and find out, maybe it's about his leg."

Reluctantly, Franklin answered the call and put it on speaker. "Ay, wassup, dog?"

"What it do, homie?" Lamar's deep voice filled the air. "What you doin'? Ain't you supposed to be watchin' after Chop? I thought you were the responsible one, Frank. Why you got little homie runnin' the streets, actin' a fool at your aunt's crib?"

Franklin grimaced. "What? How the fuck he get over there?"

"Don't know, nigga, but you better come get his ass. He's over here shittin' all over your aunt's yard, barkin' and shit, and can't nobody calm him down, man. I tried everything. Your aunt is threatenin' to call a dog catcher. Bring yo' Vinewood ass back to the hood before Chop end up in a pound, dog."

My stomach dropped. "Frank, we can't let that happen!"

"You the one who trained him, Frank," Lamar continued. "Come handle this shit, you the only nigga he listens to."

"Goddamn, if it ain't one thing, it's another," Franklin reclaimed his seat on the motorcycle. "I'm on my way, nigga. Don't let nobody lay a motherfuckin' finger on little homie, a'ight?"

"I'ma hold this shit down long as I can, dog," Lamar replied. "Just hurry yo' bitch ass the fuck up."

* * *

Despite the late hours, Forum Drive was a rather lively little street. The trashy sidewalks were populated with drunken loiters, roaming bums, and rats. There were creepy looking dudes sprawled out on shadowy porches, the block was crammed with rundown, graffiti ridden houses. The seedy neighborhood was a huge change of scenery compared to Vinewood Hills. Hopefully we didn't linger here long, there were way too many shady characters hanging around for comfort.

Franklin parked the motorcycle at a hasty angle before a white, single-story bungalow. Lamar was slumped on the concrete porch steps with Chop. There was a lot of dog poop scattered across the weedy lawn, but Chop seemed calmer than ever, sleeping soundly at his feet. Lamar however, appeared down in the dumps, his head bowed and shoulders drooping. He breathed heavily, his face and neck glistened with sweat. My posture grew rigid. Something wasn't right.

"Stay here, baby," Franklin demanded as he stood from the motorcycle. I responded with a weak nod. He set off toward Lamar, leaving the motor running.

Chop twitched awake at the sound of Franklin's footsteps. Tail wagging furiously, the dog sprang up and rushed into his master's arms.

Franklin smiled, hugging his large, furry companion. "What's good, boy? I told you to go get help. How'd you end up in the hood, little homie?"

"Woof!" Chop responded with a bark.

As if he were fluent in dog speak, Franklin nodded. "For real? You ran all the way here from Vinewood to find Lamar?"

"Woof!"

"But he wouldn't help?"

"Woof!"

"So you got mad and shit all over the lawn?"

"Woof! Woof!"

"My aunt ran outside and tried to hit you with a broom?" Franklin grinned. "Sounds like somethin' that crazy bitch would do. You shoulda ate her ol' annoyin' ass, won't nobody miss her—"

"They pinched her, nigga," Lamar said, his voice deadpan.

"What?" Franklin gazed at him. "The fuck you talkin' 'bout?"

"Some eses rolled up, man. They snatched yo' aunt, my nigga. I tried to stop 'em but…" Lamar sighed. "Wasn't nothin' a nigga could do, shit happened too fast."

"Well damn, ain't that a bitch?" Franklin shrugged half-heartedly, and turned away. "C'mon Chop, we leavin'—"

"Where you goin', nigga?" Lamar hauled himself up, and slipped in front of Franklin, blocking his path. "Didn't you hear what the fuck I said? Some Vagos motherfuckers took your aunt, nigga. She the last bit of family you got left, fool."

"So? They can keep her dusty ass. I don't give a fuck."

"Frank, c'mon, dog," Lamar pleaded. "That's fucked up, even for you, nigga. I got love for yo' aunt's big, sexy ass, y'know what I'm sayin'? She gonna have my baby one day, nigga."

"Damn nigga, you that fuckin' desperate for some dry ass pussy? There's plenty of stank ass bitches on this block, bet you they'd all be down to fuck for one of them dime bags you be hustlin'. Go find one, and get the fuck up outta my face with that bullshit, man." Franklin brushed past Lamar, their shoulders bumped roughly.

Lamar's gaze grew flinty, his expression tight. "You know what? Fuck you, fool. Your moms oughta be turning in her motherfuckin' grave right fuckin' now, fake ass motherfucker."

Franklin froze, and glanced at Lamar, his nostrils flaring. "The fuck you just say?"

"You heard me, nigga. Leavin' your auntie to die like she some random bitch in the street—you a bitch ass nigga, Frank. You a petty ass motherfucker, man."

Fists clenched, Franklin snapped around, and stepped up to Lamar. The two men glared hard into one another's eyes, tension filled the air. My stomach hardened. "Guys!" I scrambled from the motorcycle, and shoved myself between them. "Seriously? You two are best friends, why the heck are you fighting? We have to stick together, fighting amongst ourselves isn't gonna help anything."

Lamar took a step back. "It's this moody motherfucker that stay arguing and shit," he said. "Damn Frank, what the fuck happened to us, dog?"

"The fuck you mean, nigga?" Franklin asked.

"Davis high school, Forum Drive gangsters—you forget about all that shit, nigga?" Lamar sighed, his voice softened. "We used to be straight, dog. It used to be just me and you against the motherfuckin' world, y'know what I'm sayin'? You were my boy, the fat ass brother I ain't never had, man. Everything was cool until them old ass white dudes came along. What they got that I don't, nigga? Why you had to change up on me, homie? I just want my boy back, I want shit to be normal again, dog."

"Ay, man…" Franklin frowned, the edge in his voice dissipated. "We are straight, dog—"

"No we ain't, motherfucker," Lamar grumbled. "I'm tired nigga, I can't take yo' crabby ass bullshit no more. Maybe if you treated motherfuckers with the same respect you give them old white dudes, all your homies wouldn't had turned their backs on you. Your own flesh and blood can't even stand yo' angry ass, dog." Lamar pulled away toward the house, and stole a quick glance at me. "Better proceed with caution, white girl. It's only a matter of time before this nigga fucks shit up with you too."

"Stay mad then, nigga!" Franklin shouted as Lamar disappeared through the front door of the bungalow. "I don't give a fuck!" Muscles quaking, Franklin spun around and stormed off down the street.

"Frank!" I called out to him. "Where are you going?"

He completely ignored me and kept walking. I sighed heavily. Crap, he's pissed again.

"Ay, white girl," Lamar called out from within the house. "Ain't no reasonin' with him when he's fuming like that! Give that fool some space, he'll be back. You can come chill in the crib 'til he cools off."

I hustled into the house with Lamar, Chop trotted inside behind me. Hanging out on the porch until Franklin returned wasn't an option, not in a shady neighborhood like this, at least.

The musty stench of weed and cigarettes invaded my nostrils once I stepped through the door, and into the cramped living room. Lamar lounged on the cream-colored couch with a blunt between his fingers, his eyes glued to the cheap, tiny television screen tucked in the corner of the space. An episode of Impotent Rage was on, the volume turned up so high, the grimy windows were shaking.

I drifted across the peeling, linoleum floor and plopped down on the couch beside Lamar. I wasn't a huge fan of cartoons, but I tuned into the show anyway. Considering the crappy day he was having, he probably needed some company.

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "About Franklin's aunt?"

"Soon as I finish this blunt, I'ma strap up and get the gang together," Lamar said. "Can't have them Vagos motherfuckers rollin' on CGF turf, stealin' our bitches and shit. We gotta send a message, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I think that Madrazo lunatic and the Vagos are working together now. Maybe my dad and Trevor can help—"

"You trippin'. CGF don't need them old white dudes to get shit done, and we don't need Frank's two-faced ass either."

I frowned. "I hope you and Franklin make up soon. You two shouldn't fight so much."

"It's cool, white girl. I know he got beef with Denise, but she's still family, y'know what I'm sayin'? It's sad as a motherfucker, his family so damn divided, man. Everybody need to stop being stubborn and pull together. Family comes first before everything, you feel me?" Lamar put out his blunt, and rose from the couch. "I'm rollin', white girl. Gonna go bust on some Vagos fools. Make yourself at home. Do whatever the fuck you want, all the rooms in this motherfucker are free, and there's plenty of food up in the fridge." He lifted his baggy shirt, and drew a handgun from the waistband of his cargos. "Here, better keep this shit close, shorty." He handed me the deadly weapon. "Never know when motherfuckers might roll up again."

"Um…" I gaped at the gun. "I don't know how to use this thing."

"For real? The way your daddy stay creepin' on fools, I thought for sure he taught you some shit." Lamar shook his head. "You all fucked up in the game, white girl. But it's cool, just stay close to Chop, little homie's a real motherfuckin' OG, he'll keep yo' little white ass safe."

"I hope so," I feigned a smile. "Be careful, Lamar."

"Yeah, don't even trip, I'ma do my thang. I'll hit Frank up and let 'em know you waitin' for him here."

I ran a shaky hand through my hair as I watched Lamar make his exit. My nerves were on edge. Where was Franklin? Hopefully he comes back soon, I didn't feel safe without him. I glanced at the heavy gun in my lap. I really hope I don't have to use this thing…

* * *

 **Woo, another chapter down! I seriously did not think this fic would be this long when I first started writing it, but I'm glad it is lol, it's actually pretty fun to write. Anyway, I hope y'all are enjoying it so far, there's a lot of different directions it can go at this point, and I'm excited to explore the possibilities with y'all. Leave a review, lemme know what y'all think of the chapter. Thanks for reading, I love you guys for the feedback and support! ^^**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! I'm back with a new update, I hope the wait wasn't too long. This chapter contains the usual amount of general GTA craziness, arguing, and quite a bit of fluff, (fluff being my favorite part of it all, just being honest lol), but there's also some sexy stuff toward the end, so just a heads up. Okay no more spoilers, let's get to reading! :)**

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I jerked awake to the noise of obnoxiously loud rap music, the ear-splitting bass rattled and pulsated through my brain with every rhythmic **_thump_**. Over the annoying roar of music, there was vague chatter and laughter resonating from all around me. I couldn't make out any of the words, the voices were unfamiliar. The air was hot and heavy, I was sweating balls, sunlight beamed through the windows, the musty stench of pot filled my nose. Jesus, what was happening? I blinked, rubbing my eyes as I propped myself up on the couch.

I gaped at the crowd of strangers occupying the living room. Cheap beers and blunts hanging loosely in their grasp, they were huddled in a group, swaying to the music, grinding on one another like drunk, perverted little rabbits. Even Chop was getting in on the action, he bounced about on his muscled hind legs like a bunny alongside the party-goers. The intelligent dog seemed to be dancing to the rhythm of the heavy beat, with his brown paws held high in the air.

I glanced at the skinny DJ in the corner mixing beats on his turntable. Ugh, what the hell was going on? Where did all these people come from? Who the hell decided to throw a party?

Franklin strolled into the room with an entourage of dudes shambling behind him, all of them dressed head to toe in shades of green, their eyes bleary and bloodshot. Cheering, shouting and clapping filled the space upon Franklin's arrival. Jeez, all these drunk people must be his stupid friends. I glared at him, only a real douche bag would throw a party at his missing aunt's house, who might I add, just got kidnapped the night before.

"What's good, y'all?" Franklin asked, smiling wide at his guests. He gazed at me and waved, joining me on the couch along with his doped-up entourage.

"Seriously?" I punched his broad shoulder. "You're having a party right now? Your aunt is missing—"

"Ain't it great?" He grinned, his eyes scoured over the room. "Look at this motherfucker! I finally got my damn house back. It's time for a motherfuckin' celebration!"

His buddies nodded with approval, they gave Franklin a variety of complicated looking handshakes and high-fives.

"Hell yeah, bro," an Asian dude sitting across from us said. He reached out his heavily tattooed arm, and offered Franklin a fist bump. "It's good to have you back in the hood, this is where you belong, homie. CGF for life, you heard?"

"A-fuckin-men," a husky black dude with gold-plated teeth added. "We got them chump ass ese motherfuckers movin' in on CGF turf. We gotta drive them fools out, The Families need to pull together more than ever."

"See? CGF needs you," the Asian guy said. "You're a fuckin' monster behind the wheel, we need you back on the streets. You're wasting your talents cooped up in Vinewood Hills, bro."

"Yeah, I heard about Franklin tearin' up the streets, leavin' you, and all those drag racing fools in the dust," the gold-plated teeth guy opened his green varsity jacket, and whipped out a silver revolver. I cringed at the sight of it. "What it do, my niggas? I say we roll up on Rancho right now and smoke all them motherfuckers. Have ourselves a lil' drive-by—"

"Chill with that shit, homie," Franklin said. "I ain't down for no bangin' right now. I just got my fuckin' crib back from Denise, a motherfucker just tryna enjoy himself, nigga."

"Word, give him a break," the Asian guy said. "No offense man, but your aunt—dude, she was fucking crazy. I heard she was using your crib as a women's art center or some shit. That true?"

"Women's art center?" An older black guy with a giant gold chain, and a blunt protruding the corner of his wrinkled mouth hovered over us. "Nigga, word on the street is, they spent hours and hours stickin' paint brushes up they pussies, drawin' portraits and shit. What kinda shit is that?"

"Strong pussy muscles make for a better fuck, homie," the Asian dude added.

"Shit, if yo' auntie was tryna put her pussy to work, she shoulda called a brother," the old black guy with the chain said. "I could work her ass out real good—"

"Shut yo' old ass up and pass me the blunt, fool," Franklin grumbled, snatching the weed from the old guy's lips. "You blowin' my high, nigga. I'm tryna get fucked up—"

"Can you not please?" I wrenched the blunt from his grip, and plucked it aside. "Have you forgotten about the crapload of enemies we have? You need to keep a clear head—"

"Yo, what's good with this white bitch?" The Asian dude shook his head. "Bad vibes, bro. Lemme guess, you found her in Vinewood Hills, right?"

"Rockford Hills actually," I retorted. "Why? What's it to you?"

"Same shit," the Asian guy said. "I thought all the dumb, blonde bitches like you from the hills were 420 friendly—"

"Ay," Franklin glared at him. "That's my girl you talkin' to, motherfucker."

"For real?" The Asian dude scrubbed a hand through his closely shaven hair, his dark brown eyes darted from me to Franklin. "Whoa, my bad, you really with this blonde chick, Frank? Finally moved on from that other bitch, huh? Tanisha was her name, right?"

"Fo' sho', nigga," Franklin replied. "Fuck that bitch."

"Yo, my fault for what I said. Anybody that's cool with Frank is good in my book," the Asian dude extended a hand to me. "My name's Hao."

I shook his hand weakly. "I'm Tracey," I mumbled.

"I'm a mechanic," Hao said. "I work at LS Customs, y'know the one near the airport? Hey, if you drive, I'm sure I've fixed up your car at one point or another. With all the crazy drivers in this city, fools have been having accidents like they're going out of style—"

The click of stiletto heels against the creaking floorboards stole my attention. My eyes widened. A half-naked woman approached us, her fat butt jiggled with every step, her huge breasts were practically popping out of her tiny push-up bra. "Hey, Franklin," she greeted with a gross, seductive tone. The random chick leaned over the couch, her long, slender arms locked around his neck from behind. "How you doin', baby boy?"

Franklin stole a glance at her, his body tensed. "What's good, Infernus? The fuck you doin' here? Which one of y'all invited strippers?"

"Does it matter?" The slut sashayed around the couch, revealing her red thong to everyone. She bent over before Franklin, shaking her disgusting, tattooed butt cheeks in front of his face. "Ready for a little fun? One of your boys already paid for you, so technically, this is on the house."

"N-nah, girl," Franklin stammered. "I'm good—"

"Nigga, you know how much bread we dropped on this bitch?" The gold-plated teeth guy said. "It was an extra hundred alone to get her here on such short notice. You gettin' that lap dance whether you like it or not, my dude."

"You too Vinewood to fuck with strippers now, nigga?" A voice shouted from the dance floor.

"Consider it your initiation back into the hood," another voice added. "CGF for motherfuckin' life!"

The stripper began to gyrate her nasty, sweaty hips all over Franklin. Cheering and applauding overwhelmed the space. My body twitched as I glared holes into my boyfriend's back, the sleazy lap dance she preformed on him was so hard to watch. Ugh, it was disgusting. Franklin glanced at me with apologetic eyes, a grimace on his face. I shook my head. I was so done with him.

Franklin's joggers began to vibrate, a melodic chime rang from his pocket. He withdrew his phone from his pants, and glanced at the private number brightening the screen. "Ay!" He called out for everyone's attention. "Everybody quiet the fuck down, Madrazo is callin' again!"

I grimaced. Crap, I thought Uncle T got rid of that psychopath last night. How did he get away?

The DJ cut the music, and the loud chatter had toned down into complete silence at Franklin's command. He rose the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

Very angry, muffled shouting poured out from the phone. "He sounds pissed as hell," Hao whispered, a grin spread across his face. "Frank, put that shit on speaker, I wanna hear."

Franklin smirked mischievously, tapped the speaker button and held the green smartphone out for everyone to hear. "We will kill her!" Madrazo's voice boomed from the phone. "Just give yourself up, why don't you? You have until nightfall before your lovely aunt is a dead woman—"

"'Sup bitches!" Jimmy flung into the room, interrupting Madrazo's rant. His fat body squeezed his way passed the dance floor to the DJ. "Why's it so quiet, homies? What kind of lame ass party doesn't have music? C'mon, gimme those dank beats!" Jimmy pressed a button on the DJ's laptop, and a boisterous rap song filled the air. Jimmy jiggled awkwardly to the music, his chunky arms waving side to side. "Jizzle is up in this bitch! Whoop-whoop! Party over here! Party over there—"

"Who is that?" Madrazo asked. "What is that music? Are you having a party right now?"

Franklin quickly tapped the phone off speaker. "Somebody shut his fat ass up!" He demanded, storming away from the thumping speakers, and into the kitchen.

I jogged after him as my idiot brother and the DJ began to argue.

"U-uh, nah, dog," Franklin muttered with the phone to his ear, and palm clasped over his mouth, attempting to suppress his chuckling. "I ain't havin' no party, man. I'm real torn up 'bout this shit, you feel me? I love my fuckin' aunt, man. She my favorite, slash only livin' relative I got left. Just give her completely sane, and not annoyin' as fuck ass back."

Madrazo's muffled voice continued to scream in his ear. I rolled my eyes. Clearly, the conversation was going nowhere fast. I snatched the phone from Franklin's hand. He tried to reclaim the green device, but I shoved him back. "Martin, are you there?"

"Tracey!" Madrazo exclaimed. "Is that you, sweetheart? Still alive, are you?"

"For now," I replied. "Look, Franklin doesn't care about his aunt, okay? If you really want to hurt him, take me. You can have me in exchange for Denise—"

"The fuck are you doin'?" Franklin asked, attempting to snatch the phone back again.

I jerked away from him. "Shut up," I grumbled.

"Quite an interesting offer…" Madrazo said. "Fine, I'll play your little game. Meet me at the Maze Bank Arena underpass, eight o'clock on the dot, and not a second later, young lady. Come alone, or the aunt dies. Understand?"

"I'll be there," I muttered.

The line clicked dead. After a fleeting moment of tense silence, the party quickly resumed, the music cranked up even louder, voices filled the space. Seemingly at a loss of words, Franklin stared at me incredulously.

"Asshole," I muttered, tossing his stupid phone at him and stomping out of the room. The narrow halls were cramped with people drinking and smoking, it was a real pain trying to push my away through them.

"Trace!" Franklin chased after me. "Where the fuck you goin'?"

"Go away!" I blurted out, turning into the tiny pink bathroom and slamming the door behind me, twisting the lock.

He gave the doorknob a stern jerk, but it wouldn't budge. "That was some stupid shit you did!" His shouting seeped beneath the doorway. "You can't go 'round makin' deals with motherfuckers you can't keep. The fuck were you thinkin'?"

"I'm not gonna let your aunt die, Frank."

"You jokin', right?"

"This isn't a joke."

"What? Are you for real?"

"I'm serious. I'm doing the trade, and you can't stop me. There's nothing you can do to keep me here."

"You officially lost yo' motherfuckin' mind, girl."

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"Nah, I don't. You finna help a nigga understand, or what? 'Cause what you doin', it doesn't make a lick of fuckin' sense."

"Your aunt's death isn't going to make him stop. Madrazo is going to keep kidnapping everyone you know and love until he gets the right person. It's only a matter of time before it's me, Frank. What does it matter whether he gets me now or later?"

I sighed, and gazed at my reflection in the foggy mirror. My hair was an absolute mess, and my eyes were heavy with bags. If only Franklin wasn't being such a douche, he could've woken me up before inviting his entire hood for a house party. But at least the blue, loose-fitting bohemian dress I borrowed from Denise's closet last night still looked cute on me.

"I ain't gon' let yo' ass get pinched over my dusty ass aunt," Franklin yelled. "You hear me? She ain't worth it, a'ight? Can't you see Madrazo is doin' me a fuckin' favor? With her crazy ass out the picture, I can finally have my motherfuckin' house back. I want that bitch gone. It's a dream come true, ain't no one finna miss her dried-up ass. If them eses knew any better, they'd give her annoyin' ass back."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" I asked. "You're such a douche bag. Lamar was right, family is important, and maybe if I sacrifice myself for your aunt, you'll learn to appreciate her."

"Nah, you don't understand. That feminist bullshit she stayed spewin' at fools was a nightmare, always arguin' and moanin' at a nigga for the smallest shit. I'd choose you over her any fuckin' day."

"Sure you would, dick," I sneered. "You ditched me last night. You walked off without me, you left me in the street, all by myself in the middle of the night, in the shadiest neighborhood ever! If it wasn't for Lamar, who knows what would had happened…" I sniffed, my chest ached, tears stung my eyes.

"Baby…" Franklin's voice softened. "I'm sorry, a'ight—"

"A-and that dirty slut in the living room, how could you let her do that? Right in front of me? Seriously, you are such a selfish prick."

"That shit wasn't my fault, I ain't have a choice. My homies were right there."

"You always have a choice!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Aren't you a little too old for the peer pressure excuse? I don't give a crap about your stupid friends."

"You should. CGF is the only niggas standin' between us and Madrazo, they protectin' us. Give a nigga some weed, alcohol, and some bitches to fuck with, and all is good in the hood. I lost a lot of respect movin' to Vinewood, I had to earn my stars back, you feel me?"

I shook my head, his words went through one ear and out the other. "Who's that stripper, Franklin? You knew her. Are you having sex with her?"

"What? Hell nah, I ain't fucking her. Wait, is this what this shit is about? You offered yourself up to Madrazo over a dirty ass stripper? Baby, her ass was stinkin' like a motherfucker, you ain't smell that shit? The bitch must have been to three or four damn parties before her stank ass got here."

"Thanks a lot, Franklin," Infernus shouted.

"Like you care how much her booty stinks, I know you still want to fuck her," I said. "So, go ahead and do it, what are you waiting for? I'm sure your pathetic, pothead buddies would love that."

"Tracey, come on. You talkin' crazy, baby."

"W-what does she have that I don't have?" I said tearfully, staring at my toes through glossy eyes. "Your friends, t-they make me feel so ugly, and unwanted, they act like I don't even exist. I-I hate them. I hate you, I hate you so much…"

My wobbly knees gave out, and slid onto the cold, tiled floor. Clutching my aching chest, I sobbed uncontrollably. I just wanted to go home, dealing with my psychopath father would beat being treated like this. At least he actually cared about me. No one here did, except Jimmy, maybe.

"Trace?" Franklin asked. "Your hair, the color of your skin—it's different than what them ignorant ass fools outside this room are used to, you feel me? Don't let them get you down, girl. You're beautiful. You are so beautiful, baby. Never, ever let no motherfucker make you feel like you ain't, and if they do, I'll be right here to convince yo' fine ass otherwise." He let out a long, drawn-out sigh before continuing. "Look, I'ma give you your space, a'ight? Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do up in there. Come find me when you wanna talk."

I smiled weakly. Franklin's sweet words were touching.

"A'ight, this fuckin' party's over!" Franklin yelled, the music came to an abrupt halt. "If you ain't CGF, get the fuck up outta here! Bounce motherfuckers, get the steppin'."

I remained locked away in the bathroom long after I ran out of tears, and silence reclaimed the house. I needed to be alone, I was so pissed at everyone and everything. Quite some time had passed before I heard a gentle knock on the door. It must be one of those gangbanging douche bags.

"Go away!" I wailed. "Get the fuck away from the door, low-life dickhead! Fuck you, asshole! Fuck you! Get the fuck back, you filthy bastard!"

"I-I think you should leave her alone," Jimmy's muffled voice seeped beneath the doorway. "Y'know, just for a little while, Dad."

My heart skipped a beat. I lunged for the door, yanking it open, and laid eyes on Dad with Jimmy at his side. I gaped at him, slack-jawed. "Dad… W-what are you…"

Dad formed a warm smile, and embraced me tightly. "Hey princess," he greeted. "God, I missed you."

"I-I missed you too, Daddy," I sniffed, hugging him tight. "You're not mad at me anymore?"

"I was pissed at Frank, not you, sweetie. I just want you to be safe, alright? I thought the fuckin' weasel was taking advantage of my baby girl." Dad pulled away, and gazed into my eyes. "It wasn't like that though, right?"

"No, of course not, Dad. Franklin isn't like that, you know that. What are you doing here anyway?"

"F called, he filled me in on the situation. What were you thinking, offering yourself up to Madrazo in exchange for some stranger? Your life is more precious than anything in this world, I can't lose you, baby."

"I have to do this. It's the only way Franklin would help—"

"How's that slippery fucker been treating you, anyway?" Dad gently wiped the tears brimming on my eyelids. "Like shit I bet, huh? You need me to have a word with him?"

"Dad, no—"

"Just say the word, and I'll straighten that fucker out for ya. I kicked his ass once, I can do it again in a heartbeat."

"Stop it!" I snapped. "Don't even think about doing anything crazy, Dad. Not again."

"I won't," he sighed heavily. "I promised your mother I wouldn't cause a scene. But if that motherfucker does anything to hurt you while I'm here, all bets are off." He kissed my forehead. "Alright, I gotta go join Trev, your boyfriend and his CGF pals in the backyard. We need to come up with a plan for tonight, I'm not gonna let that Mexican psychopath lay a finger on you, understand?"

I nodded. "Thanks Dad."

"I love you, honey. Why don't you watch some TV while us grown men discuss business?" He gazed at Jimmy. "Take care of your sister in the meantime, alright?"

Jimmy nodded, "You can count on me, Dad. Good luck with the whole making sure Tracey doesn't die thing. You guys are gonna need a hell of a plan to stop this Madrazo dude."

"We'll figure something out," Dad turned away and forged down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

"Hey, sis," Jimmy tapped my shoulder. "Wanna watch some Fame or Shame? Might be a good way to pass the time, before we all die a horrendous death at the hands of a deranged, Mexican drug lord, y'know?"

"You're such a pessimist," I muttered.

Jimmy and I wasted a good two hours sitting on the couch, mindlessly staring at the TV screen before Franklin, Uncle T and Dad finally finished discussing business, and joined us in the living room. A group of thugs followed at their heels, Hao was among them, I remembered most of their hardened faces from the party Franklin threw earlier. They crowded about the corner of the space and conversed with one another.

"This is perfect!" Uncle T's grating voice echoed throughout the house. He towered over the couch, and smiled down at me. "Tracey! Are you ready to be the martyr princess you always wanted to be?"

I blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"I dunno about this plan, Trev," Dad said as he paced the room, his fancy shoes clicking against the floor. "Shit can go wrong real fast. Maybe we ain't thought this through enough."

"Y'all better make up yo' fuckin' minds, and soon," Franklin said, leaning against the peeling wall with his muscled arms crossed over his chest. "Time ain't on our side."

"Yeah, we gonna do this shit or what?" Hao asked.

"Look, the plan is perfect, guys," Uncle T said. "But we're gonna need Tracey to make it work, alright? All she's gotta do is show up for the exchange and draw Madrazo out, and then we clip the bastard the moment he shows his face—easy! What could go wrong? She'll make the perfect bait, no one will even see it coming."

"That's my daughter," Dad argued. "I'm not gonna put my family at risk just to get an edge over Madrazo. You can't just throw people into the fire and expect them not to get burnt, T. There's gotta be another way to do this."

"Honestly, I ain't cool with T's plan, either," Franklin added. "Shit is risky as a motherfucker."

"Franklin, would you stop thinking with your dick for just one fuckin' second?" Uncle T retorted. "They're not gonna touch a hair on your girlfriend's pretty little head, alright? We'll make sure of that, won't we?" His eyes darted to Dad. "And Michael, don't be such a pussy. We can do this, it's the perfect fuckin' plan."

"Hey!" I rose to my feet. "If there's anything I can do to help stop that psychopath, I'm in. So if you need to use me as bait or whatever, then fine."

"Mhmm, now that's what I'm talking about!" Uncle T fist pumped the air. "Tracey here has bigger balls than the both of you miserable saps combined. Time to get serious, boys. We're fuckin' doing this!"

"Tracey," Dad frowned. "Are you sure about this, baby? What we're about to do ain't gonna be no walk in the park, things are bound to get messy. It's gonna be dangerous."

"We don't have a choice, Dad," I murmured. "Madrazo is going to come after me either way. I'm not gonna hide in the desert for the rest of my life. I have goals and dreams, and I'm tired of letting that crazy asshole get in the way of it."

Dad sighed. "Fuck, I hate when you're right, kid."

"Mikey, let's fucking go already, daylight's burning," Uncle T took off for the front door. "We got preparations to make, our gangbanging buddies of the felon nature need heavy firepower, and the local Ammu-Nation ain't gonna serve 'em."

"Go on Dad," I said. "I'll be fine."

"I'll be back when we're ready to move in on this thing," Dad turned to face Franklin, and glared into his eyes. "Hey F, this better be the last time I find my daughter bawling her eyes out in your aunt's piece of shit bathroom. If it happens again, I will gut you like a fucking fish, kid. Have I made myself clear?"

Franklin swallowed deeply. "Crystal clear, dog."

"That's what I fuckin' thought." Dad kicked an empty beer can on the floor aside. "Jesus, this place is a fuckin' pigsty, clean this shit up, Frank. My daughter deserves better than this shithole. My kids ain't used to living in this kind of filth."

"I'm starving, Dad," Jimmy said. "Can we order pizza? Or is this like, a bad time?"

"Franklin, order my son a pepperoni pie, will ya? It's his favorite, and make it snappy, Jimbo don't like to wait."

Franklin nodded obediently. "Fo' sho', I'll get it done."

Once my father and Uncle T departed, Franklin ordered Jimmy his meal and began cleaning the house just as Daddy demanded. The place was in pretty bad shape after all, beer bottles, plastic cups and cigarette buds littered the floor. Still, I never pegged Franklin for the docile, compliant type. From what I could tell, he did everything my dad told him to do without question. It was like he didn't care that my father almost killed him last night, he didn't even fight back while it was happening, either. Weird, he had this strange, undying devotion to my dad.

Maybe my psycho dad really was like a father to him.

It didn't feel right to sit around with Jimmy while Franklin did all the cleaning. As he swept up the cigarette buds with a broom and dustpan, I gathered all the discarded beer cans and bottles I could find, and dumped them in the kitchen trash. I winced at the sight of the sink. It was brimming with loads dirty dishes, and the counter was drenched with spilled alcohol. Ugh, people were such slobs.

I got to work on washing the stack of filthy dishes right away. It was a weird activity to partake in, considering I could die any moment now, but I didn't mind. I had to keep myself busy, I was tired of constantly worrying about Madrazo, and my friends, and my family. It was pointless to dwell on crap I couldn't change, it wasn't worth the headache. I was starting to get used to everything going wrong, it was a routine thing for my life to consistently be ruined time and time again.

My hands still immersed in warm, soapy water, a pair of large, strong arms abruptly found my waist. In an instant, my fears and worries were swept away, and I melted into the familiar, protective embrace, a slow smile building on my face.

"How you doin', baby?" Franklin asked, his voice gentle and subdued. "You feelin' better?"

"A little," I feigned a smile. "The plan you guys came up with, is it a good one?"

"I mean, it's a'ight, could be better—much better. The thought of puttin' you at risk ain't sittin' well with me."

"I can do this. I want to help."

He hugged me close, my back pressed against his broad chest. "You sure?"

The uncomfortably vivid memory of the dirty whore shaking her gross butt in Franklin's face flashed through my mind. My stomach churned. I shifted from his arms, returning my focus to the dishes. "I'm positive," I grumbled. "I'm ready to pull my weight, I'm tired of being the weak little damsel in distress. I can do stuff too."

"Fo' sho'," he mumbled, standing beside me. "It's only gon' get more dangerous from here on out, so when the bullets come crackin' at yo' ass, I hope you'll be ready, girl. You know it only takes one shot? One fuckin' bullet, and it's all over."

My stomach hardened. "Seriously? Have you always been this good at comforting people?"

"Nah, I'm just bein' real. I figured you could handle the truth, you tough, ain't you? You down to roll with Michael, T and I, 'cause you don't give a fuck whether or not you gotta blaze a motherfucker, right?"

I frowned. "I didn't say that."

"You actin' like it. You so damn ready to be a martyr and shit—you finna fuck with the most notorious drug cartel in LS like you used to this kinda drama, like it ain't shit to you, huh? What changed between yesterday and now? You become a hard ass ride or die bitch overnight or somethin'?"

My muscles tensed. The constant arguing was really beginning to piss me off. "Do you ever stop?" I asked, grinding my teeth.

"Maybe if you ain't agree to use yourself as fuckin' bait, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation."

My heartbeat sped up, a burst of adrenaline shot through me. "Screw you!" I blurted. "You should be thanking me."

"For fuckin' what? Gettin' yourself killed?"

"That's a chance I'm willing to take if it means getting your aunt back—"

"You don't give a fuck 'bout my aunt, you don't even know the bitch," he spat, nostrils flaring, and muscles quaking. "This shit is stupid, it's fuckin' suicide. You know damn well yo' little ass can't handle no heat—"

"Shut up," I glowered at him, my limbs vibrated. "Go away, I am so done talking to you. It's friggin' pointless."

"A'ight, fine then." He waved a hand at me dismissively, and turned away. "I don't know why I wasted the time tryna talk sense into yo' crazy ass in the first place. Fuck you."

Heat flushed through my body, his cruel words lit a fuse inside me. I latched onto one of the dirty plates, and flung it at him. Due to a combination of my terrible aim and his fast reflexes, the dish missed him by inches, zipping past his head. **_Crack!_** The plate collided with the wall, and shattered to pieces.

Stunned, Franklin gawked at the glass shards coating the floor. "Damn, Trace," he muttered. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You tryna give my ass a concussion or some shit?"

"No, I was trying to send you to hell, you fat, grumpy turd," I retorted.

"Don't talk 'bout my weight, girl. You know I'm sensitive 'bout that shit."

"I don't care! You're a fat jerkwad with mean, terrible friends. Those murdering hoodlums are totally beneath you, Frank."

Franklin whirled around to face me. "Me and them 'hoodlums' you talkin' 'bout was cut from the same motherfuckin' cloth," he said. "Just 'cause I changed up my residence to Vinewood don't mean a damn thing. I'm still good in the ghetto, I can scrap with the best of 'em, I like blazin' fools just as much as the next psychotic ass nigga 'round here."

I rolled my eyes. "You act like it's something to be proud of. It's pathetic."

"If I wasn't the ruthless motherfucker that I am, yo' little privileged ass wouldn't be here now. So yeah, it is somethin' to be fuckin' proud of."

"Stop pretending like you give a crap about me," I jammed my finger into his chest. "I hate your friggin' guts! You're an asshole."

"Good!" Franklin exclaimed, his expression tight. "Everybody fuckin' hates me, so you can get yo' narrow ass in line with the rest of them motherfuckers, I don't give a shit."

I frowned, my cheeks burned. "Really?" I mumbled, my voice lowered to a whisper. "You don't care if I hate you?"

He sighed, the tightness in his expression suddenly dispersed. "Course I do," he replied, his tone grew gentle, losing its strength. "Why you think I'm still standin' here fightin' with you?"

Franklin's strong hands clasped my hips, and he drew me close, his forehead pressed against mine. The heavenly scent of his woodsy cologne invaded my nostrils, and I found myself lost within his soft brown stare, the glint of amber in his eyes were hypnotizing. In moments, my annoyance with him had faded away. My breath hitched in my chest, I had to remind myself to take in oxygen as his full lips brushed over mine lightly.

"I see there ain't no changin' your mind 'bout tonight," he sighed. "Let's not waste the time we got left together fightin' amongst ourselves, a'ight?"

"Fine," I mumbled. "You're right, if you weren't so good at hurting people, I'd be screwed. But things are different from before, I can handle myself now. I have my own gun, Lamar gave me one."

He grimaced. "For real? Where's it at?"

"I hid it under the couch before I went to sleep last night—"

"Go get it," Franklin said. I followed his demand, quickly drying my hands and leaving the kitchen. I claimed the heavy firearm from beneath the living room's couch, and returned to him in a hurry, carefully handing him the weapon. He inspected it for a moment, and then glanced at me. "You ever used one of these before?"

I shook my head.

He pressed a button on the side of the gun, and a loaded magazine slipped from the handle. He set it aside and passed the weapon back to me. "Don't know why Lamar's dumb ass thought it was a good idea to let you tote heat if you ain't never used one," he said.

"He didn't have time to teach me how," I replied. "Can you?"

"Fo' sho'. It's a Glock—semi-automatic. It's unique from other pistols, ain't got no safety switch, so you gotta be careful with this shit. Unless you one hundred percent sure 'bout poppin' a motherfucker, you oughta keep yo' little ass fingers off the trigger, a'ight?"

I nodded. "Is that all I have to do to shoot? Just pull the trigger?"

"There's more to it, but it ain't rocket science. First thing's first, you need bullets." He grabbed the gun from my hand, and inserted the magazine back into the grip. "Next, you rack this shit right here," he pulled on a sliding mechanism fitted over the top half of the gun, "Then you aim, and pull the trigger when you ready to shoot. Think you can do that?"

"I hope so. I wish there was some way I could try it, before actually using it on a person, you know?"

"You don't use this shit unless you absolutely have to, a'ight?" He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. "Look, we got some hours to kill before we do this thing with Madrazo. If you really serious 'bout learnin' how to shoot, we can hit up the firing range. You down to roll with me?"

I nodded. "Let's do it."

Franklin had to make rounds about the house, announcing our departure to all his stupid gang friends before we could step foot outside. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, birds chattered in the trees, the sky held a soft blue glow. The neighborhood was lively as always, people strolled along with a bounce in their stride. There was a scent of smoked meat lingering in the air, the laughter of children and adult alike echoed in the distance. Someone must be having a cookout nearby.

Franklin escorted me to a sporty white car parked in the driveway. The clean, shiny paintjob was awfully familiar…

"Hey, when'd you get your car back?" I asked. "I thought Jimmy sold it?"

"He did," Franklin replied, holding the passenger door open for me. I slipped into the car, and secured my seatbelt as Franklin took the wheel. "Jimmy hit me up this mornin' though, apologized for what he did, and gave me the address of the dude he sold it to—some forty-year-old mouth breather still livin' with his parents. Gettin' my whip back was quick and easy, wasn't no drama."

"I'm glad everything worked out okay, I know how much you love this car. You shoulda saw the look on your face when Jimmy admitted he sold it," I chuckled. "You were so pissed."

"Yeah, I was 'bout ready to kill his fat ass." He smiled, and turned on the ignition, pulling out of the driveway.

* * *

The local Ammu-Nation was packed this afternoon. Loads of shell casings coated the polished floors, and whenever someone pulled the trigger of their weapon, plenty more were unleashed, bouncing off dividers and landing before the steel-toed boots of the range marshals. I stood behind the shooting range stall with Franklin at my side. I shuddered with every deafening shot that went off around me, the heavy earmuffs propped on my head did little to drown out the booming noise. My skin was covered with goosebumps, it was freezing in here, the vents overhead blew in a strong stream of cold air.

I struggled to keep my aim on the target in the distance, the weighty heft of the black handgun in my grasp was killer on my arms. My nerves were on edge, my heartbeat pounded in my ears, I couldn't stop shaking. Franklin's hands clasped my mine, steadying my grip on the gun. "Take the shot," he shouted over the gunfire. "Don't sweat it, it's a'ight if you miss."

Muscles quivering, I tried my hardest to focus on the target ahead. I can do this. I have to do this. I have to be strong.

Despite the pep talk I kept telling myself, I hesitated, my finger froze beneath the trigger. I felt so dizzy, it was as if the target was moving, I could barely breathe, I thought I was gonna hurl any second. Tears stinging my eyes, I shoved the gun down on the table.

"Screw this," I muttered, tearing off the heavy earmuffs and storming out of the range. I busted through the store's double doors, and scrambled down the steps into the humid afternoon air, only to be met by the chaos and commotion of the city. The non-stop **_honking_** of rush hour traffic was enough to make my ears bleed, the sidewalk was packed with dozens of people grazing by me. Some dude with a briefcase was in such a hurry, he nearly knocked me over as he brushed by, the asshole didn't even have the decency to say sorry. I felt just as nauseous out here as I did in that stupid firing range.

Franklin appeared, shoving his way through the crowd and seizing my hand. He escorted me into the shade of a nearby alleyway. Freed from the horde of rude strangers and finally able to breathe, my rolling stomach began to calm.

Lips pressed into a fine line and brows furrowed, Franklin studied me, my cheeks burned under the heat of his stare.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" I asked, wiping the tears from my eyes. "Aren't you here to gloat, and rant and rave about how you were right all along?"

"Right 'bout what?" He asked.

"You said that I was weak, that I couldn't handle myself—"

He pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. "You a lot of things, Trace, but weak ain't one of them. Think 'bout all the shit you've been through lately—the crazy ass fans, bein' stranded in the desert, the hillbillies, Madrazo… if you were weak, you wouldn't had made it through none of that bullshit."

"No, I made it this far because of you, and Dad, and Uncle T. If you hadn't been around to save me…" I sniffed, my voice cracked and tearful. "W-who am I kidding, Frank? I'm dead weight, a burden to everyone, I can't do anything right, coming here was a total waste of time…"

Franklin frowned, "Chill, baby. C'mere." He took me into his arms, and hugged me tight, his calloused hands stroked my back. Nestled in his warm, protective embrace, I buried my face in his thick neck and clung to his shirt, our bodies molded together. My stress, fears and worries rolled right off my shoulders from his delicate touch and comforting words. "You bein' too hard on yo'self. It's good that you ain't a psychotic asshole like me, T and Michael. If anythin', you should strive to be the exact opposite of fools like us. As a matter of fact, I think yo' ass is perfect just the way you are."

I gazed at him. "Really?"

"Fo' sho'. You real sweet, and innocent, and soft…" He smiled, the tip of his broad nose nuzzled mine playfully. I chuckled, brushing my nose lightly over his too. "You care 'bout people, you can see the good in everybody. Shit, you helped me find the good in me when I couldn't even see that shit myself. That big ass heart you got is a gift, baby. It's worth protectin', I don't want you to change. Don't fuck yourself up tryna be someone you ain't, a'ight?"

"Thank you," I cupped his cheek, my fingertips toyed with his neat, manly beard. "I think you're perfect too, at least when you're not mad, or arguing with me, or letting strippers grind on you."

Franklin grinned. "I argue with you 'cause I care. I know it's annoyin', but you stubborn as a motherfucker, and somebody's gotta talk sense into yo' fine ass every now and then." He planted a kiss on my knuckles and pulled away. "You hungry? Let's find you somethin' to eat and get back to the crib, it's risky bein' out here by ourselves."

"There's a Bean Machine across the street. Can we get cake? I'm in dire need for some comfort food right now."

"It's all good, babe. You can have whatever you want. C'mon."

* * *

It was a ten-minute drive from Bean Machine back to Chamberlain Hills. Franklin sipped on an iced latte while I stuffed my face with vanilla cake the entire way back. He nosed the car into his aunt's narrow driveway, and glanced at me as I savored the last bite of my sweet, delicious dessert.

"Your diet is straight up shit, girl," he smirked. "How the fuck you stay so small with all the bullshit you be eatin'?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Fast metabolism? Good genetics?"

"Could be a bit of both, but that don't really explain Jimmy's problem though. All them good genetics you got from your moms and pops just passed his fat ass right on by, huh?"

"He wasn't always a fat headed idiot, you know. But spending fifteen hours a day eating chips and cursing at a TV screen tends to bring out the worst in people."

He chuckled. "I guess so. He's been tryin' to better himself though, been with me to the gym a few times, mentioned lookin' for a job too. Give your brother some slack, he'll figure shit out."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Fair enough." Franklin rolled up the car's tinted windows, and turned a knob on the dashboard, a stream of steady brisk air poured from the vehicle's vents. He leaned back into his seat, and sighed, his eyelids heavy. "Damn, I can't remember the last time I slept."

"Seriously? How long has it been?"

"A day or two, maybe longer than that, I ain't too sure. Been gettin' the energy I needed from caffeinated drinks and shit."

I winced. "Jeez, that's nuts. No wonder you're always so cranky, you need more sleep. We have plenty of time to waste before we meet with Madrazo, why not take a nap? Let's go inside and find you somewhere comfortable to rest."

"Nah," he reached out, clasping my thigh. "Don't worry 'bout me, I'm good right here, baby. I wanna chill with you a little while longer before tonight, if it's cool? Too many nosy motherfuckers up in there, I feel like we ain't had no privacy in forever."

"Why don't you tell your stupid, crack-head gang buddies to kick rocks then? We'd have plenty of privacy with them out of the picture."

Franklin snorted. "We need 'em, Trace. Besides, they ain't so bad, only a few of 'em are on crack, a'ight?"

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "Seriously Frank, you need to surround yourself with more positive influences. I thought you were trying to be a better person. Hanging out with murderers and thugs can't be good for your mental health."

"You ever tried takin' at look at the people you surround yourself with? Me, Trevor, your pops…" He glanced at me. "Nobody likes a hypocrite, girl. Your mental health is just as fucked as mine."

I sighed. I didn't want to admit it, but Franklin was right. I adored him, but were my feelings for him blinding me from the truth? Despite his reasons, he was a murderer too, including my dad and Trevor. What made them any different from Madrazo? Or the gangbangers? Or the cannibal rednecks?

"Franklin?" I asked.

He gazed at me. "Wassup?"

"How many people have you killed?"

"Uh…" He fumbled, his muscles tensed. "Why you askin'?"

"Because I want to know—I deserve to know."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You do what you gotta do to survive. If it comes down to me or some other fool, I'ma choose me."

"Has it always been self-defense?"

"More or less."

"What does that even mean?" I glared at him. "Why do you keep dodging my questions? Just tell me the truth."

"Why you pushin' this shit so hard, baby? You knew what kind of nigga I was from the beginning. The fuck does it matter now?"

"It just does!" I shouted.

"Fuck…" Franklin touched a shaky hand to his temple, the veins in forehead twitched with frustration. "I can't keep doin' this shit with you," he muttered. "I'm so tired of arguin' all the damn time, I got enough bullshit to worry 'bout already without you constantly nagging me twenty-four-fuckin'-seven."

"Jerk," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper.

A tense silence filled the air. I stared blankly at my empty palms. Maybe I was being annoying, maybe I shouldn't have said anything. After all, if he wasn't so good at hurting people, I'd be dead by now.

"I'm sorry," I said, mustering the courage to break the silence. "I nag you because I really care about you, Frank. I've seen the darkest parts of you first hand, and I still want to be with you anyway. Flaws and all, I'll take you as you are, no regrets."

"Thanks, baby," Franklin sighed, releasing the tension in his muscles. "I'm sorry too, a'ight?" He pat his lap, and waved at me, beckoning me closer. "Bring yo' sweet ass self over here and give a nigga some love."

"No," I wrinkled my nose in protest. "I don't wanna."

He smirked at me, the shaft of sunlight piercing the window illuminated his ruggedly handsome face, intensifying the lovely amber starbursts within his soft brown gaze. Heat rose to my cheeks. Franklin's attractiveness was mesmerizing…

"Aw, look at you, blushing and shit." He reached over to pinch my cheeks playfully. "You so damn cute. C'mere, lemme cop a feel of that booty—"

"Frank, stop," I squirmed, inching away from him. "You don't need me, you only want me for my body, you perv."

"Nah, I want you 'cause of this right here." He touched a finger to my heart. "Everythin' else is a bonus, you feel me?"

"Uh-huh," I giggled, my stomach fluttered. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, what's the story with your aunt? What's the real reason you hate her so much?"

"Hate is a strong word. But my aunt and I—we ain't never got along. When my grandma passed, I ain't have no choice but to live with her. The bitch is crazy, so I went outta my way to avoid her. Ain't much more to it than that."

"She can't be all that bad. Lamar likes her."

"Yeah, but that fool would fuck any bitch that moves. Honestly, I don't give a shit what them clowns do together, so long as they do it far away from me. But for a nigga that preach 'bout loyalty so damn much, Lamar did a real good job keepin' his relationship with her under wraps." Franklin grimaced, his full lips curled in disgust. "Shady motherfucker probably been feastin' on her crusty ass for years."

"He probably didn't tell you because he knew you wouldn't approve, Frank. Don't be mad at him, he's your best friend. You love him."

"My so called 'best friend' is a fuckin' idiot," Franklin grumbled. "Just another dumb ass gangly motherfucker livin' a fuckin' fantasy, like gangbangin' and dime hustlin' finna help him move up in the world or some shit. The only place that fool is gon' end up is in a body bag."

"If he isn't in one already," I frowned. "I'm worried about him, Frank. He left last night to go looking for your aunt, I haven't seen him since."

"You should be worried 'bout yourself. There's a lot at stake tonight. The plan's risky, you usin' yourself as bait…" He swallowed deeply, his stare glassy. "I don't wanna lose you. I ain't ready to let you go so soon, baby."

His heartfelt confession made my tummy stir and tingle. I knew Franklin was worried, and that he cared, but after the tough day we had, I needed to hear him say it aloud. I shifted in my car seat, and crawled toward him, planting a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head, his lips met mine. I threw my arms over his broad shoulders, and melted into the long, clinging kiss until we were forced to part for much needed oxygen.

His broad palms clasped my hips, guiding me closer. It was a tight fit, but I managed to slip comfortably into his lap, my thighs straddled his. He leaned in, his lips brushed and caressed mine passionately, our warm, billowing breaths intertwined. I flushed, savoring the sweet coffee taste lingering on his lips. It was the rare moments like this, where the intimacy we shared made all the arguing and fighting worth it. Expressing his feelings through spoken words was out of his comfort zone, but he made up for it through his actions, the physical affection he gave me was loving and attentive.

Franklin abruptly pulled away, and yawned, sagging into his seat. "Damn, my bad, girl. I'm startin' to crash, I'm tired as shit."

His beautiful brown skin flustered and glistening, the blunt tip of his erection nudged my thigh through the confides of his joggers. Despite his arousal, he was exhausted, his head tipped back and eyes closed. The thought of letting him sleep passed my mind, but I was missing him already. I yearned for more of his undivided attention, I needed him. With a mischievous smile, I rolled my hips back and forth just slightly, teasing him.

His broad palms dipped under my dress and cupped my behind, squeezing gently. However, he grew still yet again soon after, his breathing slow, and shallow. Franklin's ability to sleep so quickly was adorable, but I was aching with need. Determined to wake him, I slipped my hands into his pants, and captured his thick shaft. He shuddered, his weary eyes opened, our gaze locked and steady.

"Damn, you real frisky today," he murmured, his voice drowsy and dragging. "What you tryna do, baby?"

"You," I answered, stroking him slow and roughly, just how he taught me to. "You like it like this, Frank?"

A deep, husky groan rose from the pit of his throat. "Mhmm…"

"You have a condom?"

"I got one stashed 'round here somewhere but…" He took my hand, lifting it from his pants, and planted a kiss on my palm. "I ain't tryna fuck you in the front seat of my car. I mean, I want to, real fuckin' bad, but this ain't what our first time together should be like."

"Seriously?" I giggled. "I never pegged you for the romantic type."

"I'm not," Franklin smiled weakly. "But I ain't no douche bag neither. Listen, you deserve a man who'll treat you like a lady, a'ight? I know I fuck shit up between us all the time, but I'm strivin' to be a better man for you. And I feel like makin' love to you would be a good step in that direction. Ain't nothin' wrong with doin' spontaneous freaky shit every now and then, but our first time together oughta be somethin' special." He pecked my lips. "You can wait, right? There ain't no need to rush, is there?"

"Of course, I can wait," I beamed, his sweet words made my heart swell with warmth. It was peculiar almost, he had quite the romantic side for someone usually so argumentative, and cold. If only he were like this all the time. I snuggled close to him, melting into his strong embrace. "Hey, what do you think our first time would be like anyway? Describe it to me."

"Describe it to you?" A smirk tugged at his full lips. "You for real?"

"Yeah, I wanna visualize it. Please? It'll be fun, handsome," I nudged him playfully. "I have like, a huge kink for dirty talk."

"Uh-huh, can't say I'm surprised, with yo' naughty ass." He gave my butt a gentle pinch.

"Frank, come on," I pleaded, clinging to his shirt. "Tell me how you're gonna make sweet, sweet love to me and impregnate me with your babies."

"I ain't givin' you no damn babies, girl," Franklin grumbled. "But I am gon' make love to you, real nice and slow..." He planted a slow trail of kisses along my neck, nibbling lightly as he spoke. "We could cop one of them nice ass hotel rooms downtown, have a little wine, dim the lights, put some mellow music on to set the mood right…"

He drew up my dress, his broad palm dipped low between my thighs, caressing my sensitive skin. I flushed, my breath hitched in my throat. "T-that sounds romantic," I stuttered, my heart raced, it was difficult to think straight…

"Fo' sho', I don't mind the sappy shit when it's with you. I can be a real sensitive, fuck a bitch on a bed of rose pedals type nigga if you into that kind of shit. And if you ain't, that's cool too. We can get creative. I can make love to you any damn way you want me to," he said, his voice a calm, seductive drawl. "Slow, hard, from the front, the back, the side, on a table, a chair—any fuckin' where." Franklin yanked at my damp underwear, his thick brows raised. "Damn, you're wet. What it do, baby? You want me to take care of you real quick?"

Swept away by my desire, I murmured breathlessly, "I want you."

"Yeah?" Franklin's lips brushed over mine, his fingers slid inside me, pressing in and out, tortuously slow and deep.

"Frank!" I gasped, clinging to him, my nails raked his broad shoulders. I rode his fingers, my body quaked with every slight movement he made. It felt so good…

"I know I ain't been treatin' you right lately," Franklin said, staring into my eyes as he pleasured me, his gaze smoldered with intensity. "I'm sorry, a'ight? For everythin'. Lemme make it up to you. I can make you feel real fuckin' good, if you let me."

"I'm yours," I whimpered. "Do whatever you want…"

"Cool, that's what I like to hear." He abruptly withdrew his fingers, and lifted them to his lips. I shuddered, staring wide-eyed as he tasted my juices. "Mmm," he smiled. "You taste good as a motherfucker, girl, like sugar, spice and every damn thang that's nice—"

"Shut up," I grumbled, my face burned with heat. "You're such a liar."

"Nah, it's trill, baby, for real." He gave my butt a gentle slap. "Let's switch shit up, it's cramped up here. Take yo' little sweet ass to the back so we can get comfortable."

I carried out his command eagerly, scrambling into the leather backseats on all fours. Franklin followed close behind, his large body managed to, just barely, squeeze between the front row of seats to join me. He hovered over me as I laid on my back, sucking gently at the hollow of my throat, his strong hands explored my body, fondling my breasts and hips. I writhed with every tender touch of his lips, my arms wrapped around him, the sound of my tight whimpers and moans filled the air.

Trapped beneath his powerful body, I trembled, aching to be filled, the teasing was driving me insane. Receptive as always, he drew back and tugged off my panties, his head hovered over my waist. "Brace yo' fine ass self," Franklin said, his lips glided over my entrance. I gasped, clenching his broad shoulders. "I'm 'bout to get all up in that pussy, a'ight?"

I nudged him impatiently. "Hurry up already."

He kissed me, his tongue flicked and swirled over my hot core. God, it felt so good, the entire world melted away, my head swam. His touch had me reeling and panting, pleasure shot through me. I reached out to him, soft moans crept through my lips. He captured my wrists and pinned me down, his kisses soon grew sloppy and greedy, his tongue buried inside me. He devoured me for what felt like forever, occasionally penetrating me with his fingers in between, his thrusts unhurried, tantalizingly slow and deep. I rode his fingers, the amazing sensations were too much to bear, I was so close to the edge.

"You like that, baby?" He asked, his voice low and husky. "You finna come for me, girl? Huh?"

"Don't stop," I pleaded, my voice quaked with emotion. "Need you… I need you…"

Franklin sped up the pace, the sweet, rhythmic motion of his tongue and fingers thrusting deep inside me, quickly pushed me over the edge. I shuddered, gripping tightly to his shirt, and crying out his name as I drowned in sensation, tears swelled in my eyes.

He continued to taste me long after I was limp and boneless, my heavy, panting breaths filled the vehicle. A sense of weightlessness struck my heart. He was such a giving, generous lover. "Frank, you can stop now," I said with a bubbly grin.

He pulled away and licked his full lips before returning a pearly white smile, "I was enjoyin' myself. You taste so good, I can't get enough of you, babe."

"Nuh-uh." I reached out, making grabby hands. "Can we cuddle now, please?"

"Fo' sho', baby." Franklin toppled on top of me, and drew me into his warm, safe embrace. I sighed, quietly listening to the calm tempo of his heartbeat as he threaded his fingers through my hair. "You good?" he asked.

"I'm perfect, Frank. Thank you."

"Nah, you ain't gotta thank me for shit. If there's ever anythin' you need, I got you," he smiled, playfully nuzzling his face against mine.

I beamed at him, a big, goofy grin tugged at my lips from his ticklish beard. I hugged his muscled body tight. "I know you said now wasn't the right time, that your life is way too out of control, but I can't wait, I-I can't be with anyone else, Frank. I wanna be with you, just you."

"I know, the feelin' is mutual, Trace," he pecked my cheek. "Listen, I've been thinkin' 'bout what you said, before Madrazo and his punk ass goons rolled up on us at my crib. You know, you were right. Michael and Trevor always got some crazy shit goin' on, and they always end up draggin' my ass into it. You mentioned I had to make a choice, right?"

"Right," I nodded. "You can't have a normal life with my dad and Uncle T constantly pulling you into their crap. Neither of us can."

"You ain't finna have no normal life with me in it neither."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid," his voice carried a sharp edge, the gentleness from before disappeared. "You know I'm fucked up too. I ain't as bad as T and Michael, but shit, they don't put a motherfuckin' gun to my head and make me help them with their crazy bullshit. I do it 'cause deep down, I like it. I've been scrappin' since I was a fuckin' kid, it's all I've ever known, and I ain't finna change for no fuckin' body."

"Not even for me?" I asked, my voice low and pleading.

He sighed, feigning a smile. "I wanna change for you, baby. Really, I do, but I tried once, for some triflin' ass bitch I used to be down for. That shit ain't work though."

"But you promised you'd be better, Frank," I cupped his cheek. "There's good in you, I know there is. I can see it, and I want you to see it too. It might take a while, but that's okay. I'm not giving up on you like she did. She might not see your worth, but I do."

"Yeah?" A blush crept across his cheeks. "I appreciate that. I'll try to behave myself, a'ight? No promises."

"Just do the best you can, okay? Take baby steps, change doesn't happen overnight." I kissed his strong chin. "This conversation is best left for the future, Frank. For now, I need you to be the baddest, most scariest gangbanging mofo you've ever been, so we can finally be done with this whole Madrazo fiasco, and get back to our ordinary, boring lives."

"Shit, you ain't gotta tell me twice. I'm ready to be done with all this bullshit too, these past few days been crazy as fuck. Ay, I was wonderin'—you got any other kinks I should know 'bout besides dirty talk? You ain't into that weird BDSM shit, are you?"

"So what if I was?" I teased, smiling wide.

"Well tough shit, 'cause I ain't lettin' you try none of that freaky, dominatrix shit on me. No whips, no ropes, and especially no damn handcuffs, I'm still scarred from that one time the popo rolled up on me for saggin'. Can you believe that shit? Out of all the illegal shit I've done, the Five-O booked my black ass for forgettin' to wear a fuckin' belt."

"Okay fine, I get it. Bondage isn't for everyone, unless…" I skimmed my finger along his sculpted jawline. "You wanna tie me up and slap me around instead?"

He grinned, his thick brows raised. "Damn, I ain't too sure yo' little ass can handle that hardcore shit. Sounds like a quick way to get a nigga booked for domestic violence, you bruise easy, Trace. People might get the wrong idea. I ain't tryna get on your dad's bad side again."

"Yeah," I frowned. "Let's just stick to the basic stuff, so my dad doesn't freak out and try to kill you again."

"Man, last night was a fuckin' disaster. That was some crazy shit—the way your pops busted in on us…" He snickered to himself. "Fuck, I did not see that comin'."

"I know, right? I can't believe he attacked you like that. It hurt to watch, I was so worried about you."

"Fo' sho', I ain't never been strangled like that before. It felt like somebody lit a match in my chest, everythin' fuckin' burned, and then there was numbness, like an ice cold prickly sensation on my fingertips and toes—I was seein' stars and shit, thought I was gon' die."

My stomach clenched. "I'm sorry. It's my fault my dad caught us, it's hard to control myself when you're around, I can't keep my hands off you."

"Nah, we both equally responsible for what happened. It takes two to tango, you feel me?"

"I guess…" I cupped his broad cheeks, and played with his rough, manly beard. "Why didn't you fight him back, Frank? Sure, he's my father, but he's also a friggin' psychopath, you shouldn't have let him bully you like that."

"It's cool, I wasn't tryna go on the offensive with your old man. I know how crazy he gets when it comes to his family, I've witnessed that motherfucker lose his shit over y'all time and time again. I knew the consequences of bein' with you, I knew his dramatic ass would find out 'bout us eventually, and I was mentally prepared for the fallout."

"Even if he killed you?"

Franklin shrugged. "Well, I was hopin' shit wouldn't escalate to that extent."

"Thankfully things didn't go that terribly wrong," I buried my face in his neck, and breathed deep, inhaling his wonderful scent. "I'm not worth dying for, Frank."

"That's a matter of opinion, baby," he replied. "Watchin' after yo' ass is a lot of fuckin' work, takin' care of you turned out to be a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Feels like I've been puttin' my life on the line for you every damn day now. Shit, you finna be the death of me."

I sighed. "I don't want to be a burden, you know? After this is all over, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I never even heard from you again," I let out a stiff, self-deprecating laugh. "Like you said last night, you're just pulling favors. You wouldn't be doing all this stuff to protect me unless you had to."

Franklin swallowed, his muscled body went unnaturally stiff. Confused by his odd behavior, I gazed at him, but he immediately turned his head, refusing to make eye-contact.

"What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing his broad back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," he muttered, his voice deadpan. "You mind if I get some sleep?"

"Um, sure…" I frowned.

An awkward stillness filled the car. What was the matter with him? He seemed perfectly fine just a moment ago.

My throat burned. Did I say something wrong?

* * *

 **And that's a wrap! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a review, lemme know what you think! Every chapter I post takes quite a bit of work, proof-reading takes forever, and even still, I still miss some mistakes lol. But I put in the work for you guys because I love y'all! I need to hear your thoughts, suggestions and honest feedback, it's really inspiring, and helps me become a better writer! Thank you so much for reading and supporting me everyone, you guys are the best :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since the last update, school has been kicking my ass, finals week was tough... but I'm back now, and I hope to be more consistent with the updates in the near future. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! There's fluff, sex, guns, fast cars- the usual recipe of GTA craziness. So no more spoilers, lets get to reading :)**

* * *

I held Franklin in my arms as he napped within the backseat, his light snoring filled the car. How did he manage to sleep so soundly? I could barely close my eyes; my restless limbs wouldn't keep still. There was so much on my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about Madrazo. Considering how quickly he found Franklin and I last night, the guy was resourceful, and he had plenty of goons at his disposal, and probably tons of powerful friends as well. Sure, we had Franklin's gangbanging buddies helping us, but even still, it wasn't enough to tip the odds in our favor. What if things didn't go as planned? How could we go to war with an entire drug cartel and expect to win?

We were screwed.

I glanced at the digital clock on the car's dashboard. It was six o'clock, only two more hours before we were forced to face Madrazo. I sighed, and scrambled out of the vehicle, leaving Franklin behind. I was in desperate need for a shower after the heavy petting session we had earlier. Heat rose to my cheeks just thinking about it, the steamy moment we shared wasn't something I'd soon forget. It was so real and passionate—to me, at least. Considering how distant he became afterwards, it was difficult to be sure whether he felt the same. Ugh, he was so hard to read. I had no idea where he and I stood. I hated it.

Once I entered his aunt's bungalow, I made my advance down the hall, and swerved into the pink bathroom. With a turn of a glass knob, the pipes let out a shrill moan before spitting out a steady stream of hot water. Steam filled the air, cloaking the tiny space in a misty fog. I wiggled out of my dress and sandals, and stepped into the tub. I stood perfectly still beneath the showerhead, the soothing sensation of warm water soaking my hair and skin worked wonders to calm my nerves. Time seemed to come to a halt, I'd linger here forever if I could…

 ** _Knock. Knock._**

"Trace?" Jimmy's nasally voice seeped beneath the doorway. "You in there? Can I come in?"

I gasped, yanking the curtains back just slightly to steal a peek outside the shower. What the heck did Jimmy want? "U-um, sure," I answered. His chunky body waddled inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Mind if I take a leak?" He asked.

"Don't care," I said. "Just make it quick."

"Hey, is everything okay, Sis? You've been in there for a while—"

"I'm fine, okay?" I shut the curtains completely and resumed bathing. "Now go away."

"Are you sure? You don't seem okay, which is totally understandable considering the circumstances. If I had to use myself as bait to lure out a gang of psychotic Mexican murderers, I'd be pretty pissed too, you know? You're probably gonna die, Trace, like really miserably and painfully, which would suck, 'cause you make a pretty good sister, when you're not throwing a temper tantrum or embarrassing yourself on national television, at least. Hey, if you kick the bucket, can I have your room?"

I rolled my eyes. "Jimmy, would you just buzz off already? You're such an idiot."

"Jeez, you don't have to be so bitchy, I was just trying to make you feel better. Sorry for being a caring brother for once. Where's Franklin by the way?"

"He's sleeping in the car," I grumbled. "Go bother him instead."

"And risk getting on his bad side? No thank you, F-Dog's been irritable as shit lately, even more so than Dad, it's fucking insane. Wait, why aren't you two together? You guys are practically inseparable. Couples showering together is like a totally normal thing, right?"

I sighed. "I think he's mad at me."

"Having another lover's quarrel, huh? Jesus, do you guys ever get tired of fighting? Kinda reminds me of Mom and Dad, you know, back when Dad was constantly drunk and lame, and they were cheating on each other like all the time. Anyway, what are you and F-Dog arguing about now?"

"I dunno, I said something to him about Dad, and he's been acting like, super weird about it ever since."

"What'd you say?"

"I told him he wouldn't be doing all this stuff to protect me unless he had to, that he was just pulling favors for Dad. I don't think he took it well."

Jimmy preformed a slow clap. "Congratulations, you're the first person on the face of the planet to actually hurt his feelings. It's crazy, I didn't even know the guy had feelings."

I frowned. "You think I hurt him?"

"I think you should talk to him before jumping to conclusions, but yeah, chances are he's butthurt. No matter how shitty we treat him sometimes, Franklin has risked his ass for our family far too many times to count, he fought through a whole town of inbred hillbillies just to save us for fuck's sake. And he was willing to let his aunt die until you made the dumb decision to trade yourself in for her. F-Dog isn't fighting Madrazo for Dad, he's doing it because he cares about you. It's so friggin' obvious and it kinda makes me wanna puke, but it's the truth."

Jimmy's words caused an ache in my chest. The dweeb was right, Franklin had gone through so much to protect me. Despite the arguments we've had, and the obstacles we faced, he was still here for me. No matter how many times he turned away from me, he'd always came back. How could I not see how much he cared?

Crap, my big mouth ruined everything. I had to fix this. He deserved an apology, he deserved to know how much I cared about him too.

Once Jimmy departed, I cut my shower short, quickly drying off and squeezing back into my dress. As I scrambled out of the bathroom, I spotted Franklin stepping through the front door at the end of the hall. Wide awake and rejuvenated by his nap, he glanced at me, but immediately turned away, disappearing into a nearby room. My stomach dropped. Ugh, the jerk was avoiding me. He probably needed space, but screw it, I had to speak to him, I had to get my feelings out. He could have all the space he wanted afterward.

I tailed after him, my stride came to a halt at the room's entrance. The space was rather dull, there was only a full-sized mattress in the center, and an empty wardrobe closet tucked in the corner. Franklin was sprawled out on the bare mattress with a blunt between his lips, threads of silvery gray smoke circled and swirled into the air.

I knocked on the door softly for his attention. "Frank? Can I come in?"

He took a long pull of his blunt before responding. "Fo' sho'," he mumbled.

The musty scent of weed hit my nostrils the moment I stepped inside. I squatted on the foot of the mattress, and feigned a smile. "You're always smoking. I wonder if you could even go a day without that crap."

"Probably could, but why would I want to?" He gazed at me. "Wassup with you? You need somethin'?"

"Um, no…" I shifted my weight, my leg muscles quivered. I was a bundle of nerves, the heat of his stare had me on edge. "It's just… I-I wanted to talk to you. I missed you."

"Yeah?" His sight drifted to the ceiling. "We got 'bout an hour before we do this thang with Madrazo. You gon' be ready when the time comes? It ain't too late to change your mind."

"I'll be ready. You'll protect me, right?"

"I got you."

I scooted over to him, resting my head on his broad shoulder. "You promise?"

He locked an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. "Me, Trev and your pops—we gon' do everythin' we can to keep you safe, a'ight? Don't worry."

"Thank you."

Franklin smoked in silence as he held me, occasionally puffing out cloudy rings into the air, a blank expression on his face. He smoked and smoked, inhaling and exhaling, and soon enough, the blunt was almost small enough to burn him. He leaned forward, crushed it out, and returned to my side. Despite his closeness, I could tell something was bothering him, he was far too quiet for comfort.

"Frank, are you mad at me?" I asked.

"Nah," he said.

"Are you sure? You seem upset."

"I ain't upset either."

"What are you then?" I cupped his bearded cheek. "Talk to me, tell me how you feel."

"I ain't too sure what to say." Franklin's soft brown gaze found mine. "I ain't too good at this shit, you feel me? Never have been."

"It starts here." I laid a hand on his heart. "All you have to do is listen to it, and tell me what you hear."

Franklin studied me for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and attentive. "That shit you said, 'bout me leavin' you after this is all over… is that what you really think? After everythin' we've been through?"

"I'm sorry," I frowned. "I shouldn't have said that—"

He leaned in, silencing me with his lips. I gasped, melting into the sweet kiss, savoring the smoky tang, and cool peppermint taste of his mouth. His strong hands clasped my hips, and he drew me closer. I shivered, the sensation of his warm, muscled body pinned against mine flooded me with heat. His hard, powerful body was so tempting to touch. I slipped a hand under his shirt, exploring his sculpted abdomen and broad chest.

Our kiss gradually deepened, Franklin nibbled at my lips, teasing them apart. Without a moment's delay, I granted him access, his tongue glided over mine. I sucked on its hot length hungrily, our heavy, shallow breaths intertwined, my heartbeat raced, my insides ached with desire. I wanted him so bad, it hurt. When we were together, everything felt right, there were no worries or pain. All I could think about was him, his touch alone was so incredibly captivating that nothing else mattered. I was ready to face any threat the world could throw at me, as long as I had him by my side.

Franklin abruptly broke the kiss, and rolled on top of me, his blunt fingers stroked my neck gently. "Trace," he said, his voice weak and quiet. "You trust me, right?"

I nodded, staring into his brown eyes. There was a glint of sadness in his smoldering gaze. My heart clenched. I was so used to dealing with only his rage. Lately, it's been nothing but arguments and screaming matches between us. Constantly, I found myself struggling to quell his explosive anger, and using my tears as a last resort to flush out his flames. It was a miracle he wasn't irritable at this very moment, the drugs in his system was probably the culprit behind his current relaxed, calm nature.

I had forgotten this side of Franklin—the part of him that emerged whenever his strength wavered. Beneath his walls, and past the countless defense mechanisms, there was a wounded soul, and a broken heart shattered beyond repair. I had worked so hard to break down his defenses, and finally, he trusted me enough to be vulnerable, and openly express his feelings. But if I wasn't careful, I could undo all my progress. I had to learn to keep my big mouth shut, and think before I spoke, which was a lot easier said than done.

"I trust you more than anyone in the world, Frank," I said, tracing a finger along his sculpted jawline. "I never felt like this about anyone."

"The feelings are mutual, baby," he replied. "I wanna be with you, I think we can build somethin' real together, girl. But I'm scared to get attached to yo' ass, I can't shake feelin' like the longer I hold onto you, the faster you'll slip through my fingers or some shit…" He shook his head. "I ain't sure whether it's this bullshit with Madrazo, or if I'm just paranoid—countin' on you leavin' me like everybody else in my life."

"I'm worried about you leaving me too," I frowned. "But I'm already attached to you, I turned my back on my family for you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd follow you to the end of the freaking Earth if you wanted me to, I can't imagine being without you. You're my everything, I'm addicted to you."

"Damn, there you go again…" Franklin beamed at me, a cute, throaty chuckle escaped him. "Fuck, I hate it when you say soft ass shit like that."

"Liar, you like it," I teased, pinching his blushing cheeks.

"C-chill, girl," his grin widened, he buried his face in my neck, hiding his flustered expression. "You play too fuckin' much."

I giggled, holding his massive body in my arms. "I know what we have is more than you just pulling favors, but what's keeping you here with me when Madrazo is finally out of the picture?"

"Knowin' you and your family, it won't be too long before y'all get into some crazy shit again. And I'ma be right here to help you out of it, a'ight? I ain't goin' nowhere— I'm with you, babe. I'm down for you." He planted a kiss on my forehead. "How many times I gotta tell you that shit before you believe it?"

I flushed, smiling wide. "I dunno, a thousand times, maybe? I'll never get tired of hearing you say it."

"For real? Damn, I really got my work cut out for me then."

"Yep, but for now, it's my turn to put in some work. I feel like total crap for what I said earlier." I drew him in, stimulating his thick neck with slow, lingering kisses. I nipped at his smooth skin, playful enough to leave a mark, yet with a mindful gentleness not to really hurt him. "How can I make it up to you?" I whispered.

"Shit…" Franklin sighed deeply. His broad palms slipped under my dress and cupped my behind, squeezing roughly. "Keep doin' what you doin'," he demanded.

Eager to please him, I continued to nibble and suck at his throat as requested, my fingers clutched the back of his head, holding him tight. He pulled up my dress and caressed my inner thighs. "Not to be pessimistic and shit, but if the plan goes wrong tonight," Franklin muttered, "this might be the last time we ever spend together, you feel me? With that in mind, how far you wanna take this? I'm down for whatever you're comfortable with."

I responded with a shrug, my kisses soon became wet and sloppy, my tongue glided over the nape of his neck.

"Fuck," Franklin shuddered, and pulled away, his bulging muscles tensed. "My bad, baby. I can't take no more teasin', you drivin' me crazy."

"Who said I was teasing?" I grinned, wiggling off my panties, and spreading my legs apart.

He stared at me, wide-eyed, a slow smile building on his rugged face. "Damn, you sure, girl? What about them rose pedals? And the wine? And the music?"

"That stuff would be nice, but it's not necessary. You're all I need. Besides, you were right about one thing, this might actually be our last time together." I smiled sadly. "So let's make the best of it. I can die a happy death tonight, knowing you at least tried to impregnate me with your babies—"

"Don't even start that shit again," Franklin smirked, helping me out of my dress, and then tugging his shirt off, tossing our clothes aside. I ran my hands over his beautifully defined torso, warmth and rippling muscle, my mouth watered. His lips brushed over mine. "But you know, nothin' is gon' happen to you, right?" He asked, his tone serious.

"I know," I kissed him back. "But I still want this."

"A'ight," he smiled. "The fuck is up with you and tryna have kids anyway? Actually, wait, I don't wanna know, 'cause I got a feelin' whatever you 'bout to say is gon' be fuckin' crazy."

"Asshole," I grinned, my gaze shifted to his joggers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Take off your clothes, we don't have all day."

"Hold up," Franklin snorted, rose from the bed, and stepped to the door, turning the lock. "Last thing we need is some nosy motherfucker walkin' in on us."

"Like my dad did last time?"

"Don't remind me. That was some bullshit right there." He kicked off his boots and stepped out of his pants. I licked my lips, my eyes glued to his flawlessly built body. How'd I get so lucky? It was finally happening, the moment I've been waiting and longing for. Unable to contain my excitement, I scrambled to the edge of the bed, and reached out to him, impatiently beckoning him closer with the frantic waving of my hands.

He gravitated close, hovering over me, the bulging outline of his erection pressed against his boxer shorts. I captured his thick length, stroking him, my sight fixed on the pre-cum dampening the fabric. Franklin sighed, and with a gentle push, I fell back onto the mattress. He climbed on top of me, working off my bra.

Finally unfastening the hooks, he buried his face in my breasts as they spilled from my loosened undergarments. "Mmm," he said, his voice muffled. "I missed yo' pale ass titties, they look good, girl. I could just eat them up, nom-nom." He traced playful kisses along my boobs, caressing and grazing them lightly with his tongue.

Pinned down beneath his hard body, I squirmed helplessly from his hot, ticklish touch. "F-Frank," I choked out between a laugh, his tongue swirled over my nipples. "That tickles!"

Franklin smirked, and pulled away, settling himself between my thighs. I gasped as he kissed me, his tongue flicked over my core. Slow and hungrily, he devoured me, his fingers dipped inside me, sliding in and out, over and over. I squirmed, gripping the bedsheets. My body was on fire, pleasure darted through me, tight moans slipped through my bruised lips. I arched my back, clenching his broad shoulders. I was so close to the edge.

"You taste good, baby," he said, his voice husky with arousal. "You ready to come for me?"

"P-please," I begged.

His fingers drove into me deeper, harder. I shuddered, losing control, crying out his name, the wet, hot flicks of his tongue sent me spiraling over the edge. Breathless and panting, a warm, tingling sensation spread throughout my body. It took me a moment to regain my composure. Through half-lidded eyes, I spotted Franklin drawing away and slipping on a condom. He returned to me quickly, stroking his fingers through my hair, his forehead pressed against mine.

"Trace?" He asked, the blunt tip of his shaft nudged my entrance. "How you feelin'?"

"Good," I mumbled, wrapping my arms around him. "That was nice."

He smiled, and planted a sweet, lingering kiss on my forehead. "I ain't done with you yet. I've been waitin' for this, girl. You ready for me?"

I flushed, my heart raced. "I am so ready."

Franklin gripped my hips. Carefully, he eased himself inside me, a low groan escaped the depths of his throat.

"Frank!" I wailed, tears stung my eyes. His throbbing cock was much bigger than I was used to, the burn of being stretched bordered on pleasure and pain. Once he was fully seated, he showered my cheeks with comforting kisses, his palms caressed my skin in a loving attempt to soothe me.

"You're so tight, baby," he said softly, there was a glint of concern within his brown, smoldering gaze. "You a'ight? Talk to me."

I clung to him, burying my tear-streaked face in his neck. "It hurts."

Franklin grew still, and held me in his strong embrace, patiently waiting for me to adjust to his thickness. The burning ache soon subsided, I clamped my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper.

Receptive as always, he began to move, gazing into my eyes as he pulsed in and out, very slow and gentle. Veins protruding his bulging muscles, and lips were pressed into a fine line, he seemed to be engrossed in an inner battle to restrain himself, probably out of fear of hurting me. My heart swelled, he was so compassionate, time and time again he put his own pleasure aside to satisfy me. I rocked my hips to meet his tender thrusts, our eye contact locked and steady, I cupped his rugged cheeks as he made love to me.

"So good…" I whimpered. "You're so good to me."

He formed a weak smile, and captured my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine.

Although I enjoyed his sweet, attentive rhythm, I wanted more. A deep, insatiable need churned inside me.

"Fuck me," I demanded, my teeth grazed his earlobe.

Like a flick of a switch, Franklin's inhibitions instantly dispersed at my command. He gripped my neck and pushed into me, his strokes powerful and deep, our bodies pounded together. The bed squeaked and rocked, my breath hitched in my throat, searing pleasure robbed me of speech. I trembled, clinging to him for dear life, his hard muscles worked beneath my fingertips. I rose my hips to meet his every push and long, dragging outstroke.

I was melting, it felt so amazing, I could barely think straight. Repeatedly, he'd snap his hips, pulling out far enough for me to sob and whimper at the loss of him, before filling me up again with a rough, punishing thrust.

Swept away by desire and yearning with need, I pleaded to him. "Faster! Harder!"

Franklin picked up the pace, drilling into me, warm sweat dripped from his flawless brown skin. His grip on my hips tightened, pinning me down, the satiny glide of his length shoving into me mercilessly felt so good—

There was a noise beneath us, a sudden **_snap_** that made Franklin cringe, his movement came to a halt.

I blinked, panting heavily. "W-what was that?"

"Girl, that was the motherfuckin' bed," Franklin replied.

"Seriously?" I sighed. "Whatever, just keep going."

"A'ight, fuck it." He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and resumed his pace, slamming into me, hard and unrelenting. My breasts bobbed against his chest as I cried out from the intensity of being drove from one climax after another.

I loved how he dominated me, I was completely at his mercy, my head swam, it all felt so good.

I loved it so much.

"Shit," Franklin muttered. "Feels so good baby, fuck…" His fingers massaged my clit, and although I didn't think it was possible, his bruising thrusts had quickened even more.

I shuddered, and came once again, drowning in sensation, my thoughts and worries were swept away. Finally, Franklin found his own release, his heavy breathing deepened into a tight groan as he filled the condom. He eased himself apart, and toppled onto the bed beside me, his powerful arms pulled my pleasantly aching body into a loose embrace.

A sense of weightlessness struck my heart. I kissed his strong chin, and he smiled, threading his fingers through my hair.

He took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. "Good?"

"Much, much better than good," I captured his face, and smothered him with a barrage of kisses.

A mischievous grin tugged at Franklin's lips, his fingertips brushed over my sides lightly, the ticklish sensation made me squirm.

"Stop!" Giggling, I attempted to roll away from him, but he drew me right back in, my back pressed to his hard chest.

"Don't leave me, girl." He cupped my chin and tilted my head, forcing me to look at him. His grin abruptly faded, his expression stony and serious. "You know I need yo' narrow ass, right?"

"Y-you do?" I stammered, lost in his eyes, the brilliant amber rays in his soft brown gaze captivated me. "Even though I get you into trouble all the time?"

"Fo' sho', babe. You keep me on my toes, you feel me? You're worth fightin' for, just…" He paused, his gaze became distant. "Don't die on me tonight, a'ight? I ain't too sure I can handle losin' you. I'm feelin' you a lot more than I originally planned, and Madrazo…"

As he continued to spill his concerns regarding our risky mission tonight, I tuned out his words, my focus shifted to his ruggedly handsome face. He was such a beautiful man, inside and out, his wounded soul layered with so many scars, his cryptic complexity was mesmerizing. I couldn't stop thinking about how he made me felt earlier, I missed him inside me already. Despite our arguments, no one's ever made me so happy. He was perfect for me. My heart was doing cartwheels just looking at him, my pulse raced.

"I love you," I blurted, my heart hammered against my chest. "I love you so effing much."

Franklin flushed, his jaw dropped, a deep redness crept across his rich brown skin. He grew unnaturally still, fumbling for words like a fish out of water, my heartfelt confession rendered him speechless.

I shot up, my stomach curled with panic from his reaction. "S-sorry, I d-didn't… I didn't mean that, forget I said anything—"

"Uh nah," he cleared his throat. "It's cool, don't worry 'bout it—"

Our heap of discarded clothes coating the floor began to vibrate, an upbeat chime resonated from Franklin's joggers. He glanced at his Rolex, his gaze darted to me. "Ay, it's time. C'mon, let's get dressed, we gotta go."

* * *

The Maze Bank underpass had been used as both a refuge and drug den for the homeless. The once elegant brick walls were coated with graffiti, needles, broken glass and garbage were strewn across the ground. Bums and hobos occupied the area, their shadowy bodies crumpled over in the dirt, and tattered clothes covered in muck and grime.

It was a dark, cold evening, the moon hung in the inky sky overhead. Without the support of streetlamps to brighten the underpass, the encroaching blackness was rather unsettling. Franklin parked the car about fifteen feet out from the bleak tunnel. We sat in silence, with Chop in the backseat, patiently, we waited for Madrazo. My sight was glued to the digital clock on the dashboard. Madrazo was expected to arrive any moment now. Unable to sit still, I ran a jerky hand through my hair. The anticipation was killing me.

"What if something goes wrong?" I asked, rubbing my sweaty hands on my thighs. "What if—"

"Chill, just relax," Franklin replied, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. "Everythin' is gon' be a'ight." He dug into his pocket, and withdrew a tiny, wireless earpiece. "You remember the plan, right?"

I nodded.

"What 'bout you, Chop?" Franklin glanced at the powerful animal in the backseat. "You ready, boy?"

Geared with the protection of a ballistic vest strapped to his furry torso, Chop responded with a bark, his hefty paws tapped against the leather seats energetically. At least one of us was ready for the combat about to ensue. I could really use some of Chop's enthusiasm right now.

"Here," Franklin secured the black earpiece in my ear. "You can use this to keep in contact with the crew, T and your pops are on the line. Say hi, girl."

"Hello?"

"Tracey!" Uncle T's grating voice blurted into my ear. "Good to see you made it to the party, kid."

"Hey, baby," Dad's voice, smooth and comforting, followed shortly after Uncle T. "How you doing, Trace? You ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I muttered. "Where are you guys?"

"We got eyes on you from up above," Dad said.

"Behind you, seven o'clock high, kid," Uncle T directed.

I shifted in my seat, and gazed out the car's rear windshield. I spotted Dad and Uncle T in the distance, positioned on rooftops adjacent to one another, the glare of the city's bright lights reflected off their sniper scopes.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" I asked.

"You mean Frankie's gangbanging buddies?" Uncle T asked. "They're positioned nearby, out of sight and waiting for our cue."

"We got all the angles covered, sweetie," Dad said. "Don't you worry. F, Madrazo's gonna be here anytime now. You and Chop oughta get in position, and quick."

"Fo' sho', dog." Franklin opened the car door, and stepped out into the brisk night air, a rifle dangled over his shoulder. Chop darted after him.

My stomach dropped. I rushed out of the vehicle and clung to him, basking the safety of his warmth. "Don't go," I pleaded, clutching tightly to his t-shirt. "I can't do this without you."

He frowned, his muscled arms encircled my waist. "You ain't alone, babe. I won't be far, a'ight?" He stroked his fingers through my hair soothingly. "You can do this, I'ma be watchin' over you every step of the way. I'm with you, always."

"Aww, would ya look at that, Mikey?" Uncle T said. "Our children are all grown up, and hopelessly in love. Aren't they just adorable?"

"So adorable, it makes me wanna puke," Dad said.

Heat rose to my cheeks. It was little weird knowing Dad and Trevor could hear every word we exchanged. So I kept quiet, Franklin held me for a moment longer before reluctantly shifting from my grasp, a deep grimace distorted his chiseled face. "You got this, baby," he gave me one last kiss on my forehead, and turned away, disappearing into the shadowy underpass with Chop following at his heels.

A cold tremor ran down my spine. I propped myself on the car's hood, my stomach pitched and rolled, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. Franklin, sensing my unease, called out to me from within the tunnel.

"Madrazo ain't shit, girl!" He shouted. "Mexican underworld ambassador my ass—we finna cap that shady, snake ass motherfucker."

"Fuckin' A-right we will," Dad added. "The smug fuck won't know what hit 'em."

"Speaking of smug, reptilian fucks, here he comes now at twelve o'clock," Uncle T said. "He's heading toward Tracey, about to make a turn into the underpass now. I got 'em in my sights, M. Why can't I just put a bullet in his skull now and call it a day?"

"Hold your fire, T," Dad demanded. "The guy ain't dumb, Trev. Best believe if he's planning to show his face, he's got a squadron of gunmen nearby, standing at the ready for shit to hit the fan. We clip him now, and there won't be nothin' stopping his people from filling Frank's aunt with bullet holes."

"You say that shit like it's a bad thing," Franklin said.

"Well, it is, Frank," Uncle T said. "We're here to bury these fuckers so we can get on with our lives. Rescuing your poor, defenseless auntie is a bonus."

"A bonus for who, man?" Franklin asked. "'Cause as far as I'm concerned, if we save her ass, she finna take back my house again. I just got that motherfucker back, dog."

"Hmm, I'm sensing a bit of unresolved tension here, kid," Uncle T replied. "What's the deal, Frank? You got a problem with your auntie, or something? Did the old bat cause some wounds that ain't fully heal yet?"

"Man, you don't even know the half of that shit," Franklin said.

"Please, do tell," Uncle T said.

"Hey, can't this conversation wait 'til later?" Dad asked. "Focus, boys. We got business to take care off, my daughter's life is on the line here for fuck's sake."

Uncle T snorted. "You know, your daughter makes for great bait, Michael. It'll be a real shame if she dies, but if it's any consolation, you and Amanda can always make a new one. God forbid, if something goes wrong, it only takes nine months to pop another Tracey out—"

I grimaced. "Seriously, Uncle T?"

"Damn T, that's fucked up, man," Franklin said.

"What?" Uncle T asked. "I was trying to provide a worried father some words of encouragement and comfort. I deserve a thank you."

"Thanks Trev, for providing me with the most disturbing, and least comforting words I've heard all night," Dad said. "It's good to know some things don't change."

The bright glow of headlights appeared, shining bravely through the tunnel's shadows. Three black SUVs emerged from the darkness and glided into a stop before me. The doors were quickly thrown open, a swarm of men armed with guns dropped out, their weapons pointed at me. I trembled, my knees were on the verge of giving out. I leaned against Franklin's car in a desperate attempt to steady myself.

"Damn, this motherfucker came prepared," Franklin said. "That's a lot of heat."

"Yeah, talk about intimidation factor," Dad muttered.

"Nothin' we can't handle," Uncle T said.

"Daddy…" I whispered, my stomach churned with nausea. There were so many of them…

"Everything's gonna be just fine, sweetheart," Dad said softly. "Keep it cool, alright? Breathe."

I took Dad's advice and focused on breathing. I took slow, steady breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth…

Madrazo was the last to show his face. He stepped out from the SUV parked in the center, and flashed me a smile. "Sorry I'm late, kiddo," he said, casually adjusting the cuffs of his expensive, gray tailored suit. "Lost track of time, I'm a busy man, you know?"

"The longer I look at this swanky asshole, the more and more itchy my trigger finger gets," Uncle T said. "Ohh, I can't wait to pop this pompous son of a bitch. I've never wanted anything so bad."

"Just a little longer, T," Dad said. "You're gonna be able to satisfy your bloodlust real soon."

Madrazo snapped his fingers, and the passenger door of his SUV opened. A black woman fell from the vehicle, her bruised, willowy frame collided with the ground. She was dirty, her clothes disheveled, and braided locks in disarray. With strips of duct tape slapped over her mouth and restraining her wrists, she yelped and whimpered, her bleary eyes darted about our shadowy surroundings. Madrazo clutched her arm and yanked the frightened woman to her feet, his gaze shifted to me. "So, you came all alone, did you? Glad to see you honored our deal—"

The screech of tires and the squealing of an engine split the quiet night air. A white van broke into a hard stop beside me. The back doors were pushed open, and Lamar hopped out, accompanied by some tattooed dudes in green, all of them heavily armed and ready for a fight.

"What is this?" Madrazo grimaced, his men rose their weapons on Lamar and his gang.

"What it do, ese?" Lamar mocked as he and his boys held Madrazo at gunpoint. "Been lookin' all over LS for yo' scary ass. Finally found you, motherfucker."

The frightened woman's eyes widened at the sight of Lamar. She tried to run to him, but Madrazo snatched her back by the arm.

Although he was heavily outnumbered by Madrazo's men, there wasn't glint of fear in Lamar's piercing glare. "Eh, be easy with my baby, fool," Lamar said. "I know it's hard to tell 'cause she so fine, but she type elderly, you know, menopause and all that shit. She got a bad back and arthritis in her toes too—"

"The ugly tramp will have a lot worse than arthritis when we're done with her," Madrazo replied. "Drop your weapons, assholes! Or we'll kill her."

"Nah, nigga, nah. Fuck you, we ain't droppin' shit. I ain't got a damn thing to live for without my girl. She my everythin', y'know what I'm sayin'? I'm ready to die, nigga. Are you?"

Madrazo let out a quick, disgusted snort. "Do you have any idea who you're fucking with?"

"Nah, fool. All you lame ass eses look the same to me, dog. Can't tell you tiny motherfuckers apart for nothin'."

"Listen to me, you ignorant fuck! You've wasted enough of my time. This is my last warning. Put down your guns or die."

I swallowed deeply, my sight darted from Lamar's crew to Madrazo's men, a tense silence filled the air as the men stared one another down with distain. I had a feeling this standoff was not going to end well…

"The fuck is this, Frank?" Dad asked. "How'd your friend find us? The hell is he doing here?"

"Man, I don't know where the fuck this fool came from," Franklin retorted. "What about the plan, dog? We finna do this shit, or what?"

"Fuck the plan," Uncle T said. "It's time to improvise, boys. We only got one chance at this, and I'll be damned if we let Lamar and his pals fuckin' ruin it. I got a clear shot on the target, and I'm taking it."

"Trevor!" Dad exclaimed. "Don't be rash. Let's just wait and see how things play out—"

 ** _Bang!_**

A single gunshot cracked through the air from above, loud like thunder, the bullet soared straight for Madrazo. In a flash, one of his men lunged in front of him, and took the full impact of Trevor's gunfire instead, the bullet pierced the man's chest. Madrazo, unscathed and still breathing, quickly retreated for cover behind his guards.

Lamar was the next to pull the trigger, and the firefight commenced, bullets exploded all around me, the blaring noise was enough to make my ears bleed. My heart hammering against my chest, I raced away, deadly projectiles zipped past my head as I ducked behind Lamar's lengthy van for cover.

"Tracey!" Dad's frantic shouting spilled from my earpiece. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Daddy!" I yelled over the gunfire. "I'm behind Lamar's van, t-there's bad guys everywhere." I gazed at the rooftops in the distance, but Dad and Trevor were nowhere in sight. "Where are you guys?"

"We're on our way sweetie, just hold on," Dad said.

"Stay low and focus on not dying, kid," Uncle T added.

The shooting wouldn't let up, loud screams echoed through the air. My body tensed, the unnerving commotion turned my stomach to ice, I couldn't stop trembling. "F-Frank?" I murmured, my quaking voice barely a whisper. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to know he was okay.

There was no response. I waited one second, two, three… still nothing. My stomach clenched.

"F, come in," Dad said. "You alright, man? Say something!"

"I think the kid is having some technical difficulties," Uncle T said. "That or he's dead—"

"He's not dead!" I cried, blinking away the tears in my eyes. "Franklin's fine, okay? His mic is probably malfunctioning—"

The roar of a powerful, boisterous engine filled my ears, it sounded painfully close. I snapped my head in the direction of the noise, and spotted a man in leather mounted on a motorcycle, speeding straight toward me. I yelped, my heart skipped a beat. I scrambled into a stance and attempted to flee, but the stranger snatched me off my feet, into his arms. As if I were as light as a feather, he tossed me onto the back of his padded seat. My feet dangling over the side of the bike, the man squashed the gas pedal, and sped off, away from the heated firefight.

"Daddy!" I wailed, clinging to the motorcycle for dear life as the driver cranked up the speed. Who the heck was this guy? Am I seriously being kidnapped again?

Hair whipping against my face, my earpiece slipped from my ear once the stranger made a sharp left onto the road. My muscles ached like hell trying to hold on. If I fell in traffic now, at such a frightening speed, I was done for. My stomach knotted, I felt like I was going to barf any moment now.

"Stop the bike, psycho!" I yelled. "My daddy is so going to kill you!" A menacing grin seeped from beneath the stranger's helmet. What a creeper.

A yellow, glistening Lamborghini pulled up beside us. The vehicle's sleek, vertical doors began to raise, and Hao appeared at the wheel, with Franklin in the passenger seat. Heat radiated through my body at the sight of him. I reached out to him, and he grabbed my hand. With a quick tug, he yanked me from the motorcycle and into the car, my petite body curled up in the safety of his warm embrace. Smoke pouring off the tires, Hao stepped on the gas and we shot forward, leaving the biker behind in a trail of dust.

"Frank!" I beamed, hugging him tight.

"What's crackin', baby?" he kissed my forehead softly. "You missed me?"

"I missed you so much," I caressed his bearded cheek.

"Yeah?" He smiled. "Missed yo' ass too, girl."

"Woof!" Chop was in the backseat, his muzzle coated with fresh blood, he waved a paw at me. I giggled, thank god he was okay.

"Why weren't you responding on the radio?" I asked, my gaze settled on Franklin.

"Me and Chop got into some real heavy shit back there before Hao came through and saved our asses," Franklin said. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be breathin' right now."

"I got you, homie," Hao said.

"Thanks man, for real—"

There was a sudden, strange **_chopping_** noise coming from above. I turned my head, peering through the rear windshield. My breath hitched in my throat as I laid eyes on a helicopter hovering over us.

 ** _Bang! Bang! Bang!_**

A hail of gunfire rained down on us, bullets pierced our vehicle, ripping through the polished metal. I shuddered with every shot, my trembling fingers clutched Franklin's shirt.

"A fuckin' chopper?" Hao exclaimed, his eyes widened. "Seriously? What'd you guys do to piss this dude off so bad?"

"Just drive, dog!" Franklin retorted.

Hao flattened the gas pedal, the speedometer needle nudged to ninety. To my surprise, he was an amazing driver—we weaved in and out of traffic, zipping through alleyways and narrow streets. It seemed effortless to him, the way he maneuvered the wheel for sharp turns and drifted between knots of cars, all the while evading the bullets raining down on us from overhead.

He made a sweeping left onto small street, an eighteen-wheeler truck clogged the upcoming road in the distance. Instead of using the breaks, he went even faster. My heart pounded against my chest so hard, I thought it was going to burst.

We were going to slam right into the big rig! We're not gonna effing make it!

However, Hao cranked the wheel before we hit the truck. I yelped, clinging to Franklin as we drifted beneath it, our tires screeching over the pavement. By some miracle, we survived, emerging from below the truck onto the opposite side of the road. Hao raced against traffic, angry drivers blared their horns at us as we nosed between them.

The helicopter was long gone, the pilot stood no chance trying to keep up with Hao's impeccable driving skills. "H-holy crap!" I stammered, adrenaline pumped through my veins. "That was insane! How'd you learn how to drive like that?"

Hao smirked. "Well, my mother can't drive, my dad sure as hell can't drive, I'm Asian, I had to prove a point." He glanced at me. "Yo, you should buckle up."

"He's right, girl," Franklin gave my butt a gentle pinch. "Take yo' ass to the back with Chop, baby." I nodded, climbing into the backseat beside Chop, and fastened my seatbelt. Franklin pressed a finger to his earpiece, and said, "Ay, I got Tracey. She's safe, dog. Y'all seen my crazy ass aunt?" Muffled words babbled into his ear, and he nodded. "Cool, good luck, man. Hit me when it's done."

"What's going on?" I asked. "Is Dad and Uncle T okay?"

"They're good, they on Madrazo's tail, punk ass motherfucker is tryna make a run for it."

"What about your aunt? Is she alive?"

Franklin's phone began to ring, Lamar's name popped up on the screen. "Guess we 'bout to find out," Franklin muttered as he answered the call. "What's good, homie?"

"I got yo' auntie back," Lamar's voice blurted from the speaker. "No thanks to yo' ass, petty, grudge-holdin' motherfucker."

"Nigga, yo' dumb ass woulda been dead ten times over if it wasn't for me, T and Michael. You started a fuckin' shitshow back there, dog. Who you think was coverin' yo' ass the entire time you were bustin' on them eses, man?"

"It sure as hell wasn't you, fool. Those were angels from above watchin' over me, I got Apache blood in my veins, I'm blessed by the gods, nigga. Can't nobody kill me."

Franklin shook his head. "You trippin', nigga. You must be high off somethin'. Still poppin' pills and sippin' on that cough syrup, huh?"

"Man, Madrazo shoulda known better than to pinch my baby girl," Lamar continued. "He ain't heard 'bout me on the streets—I'm a crazy, skin a dude alive and chop 'em into several pieces type nigga. I learned some shit from them old dudes too, you ain't the only one they be teaching."

Franklin grinned. "God shoulda blessed you with some brains, nigga. You a fuckin' menace to society, homie."

"And you love me for it, bitch. Meet me at your aunt's crib, dog. There's some shit we gotta discuss—"

From the corner of my eye, a SUV surged into my view, deadly close. In split-second timing, before I could utter a word, the vehicle rammed into us.

 ** _Crash!_**

My body hit the roof of the car, and I cried out as we flipped over. My lungs contracted in my chest with such force, I thought they were going to burst. I tumbled about like a ragdoll, the seatbelt tugged at my skin with every bump, my bones felt like they were being crushed, pain lasered through me. Metal was torn from our car like paper, the coppery taste of blood pooled my mouth.

The car skidded across the ground for what felt like years. Finally, the movement stopped, smoke seeped into my nostrils, I could barely open my eyes, I couldn't breathe. I faded in and out of consciousness, everything was so dark and there was so much pain. My legs wouldn't move, they were so numb…

What was happening? Why couldn't I move?

There was a voice calling to me. "Tracey! Tracey!" It was a man's voice, deep and familiar. Warmth touched my skin. Gasping for air, I fought through the ache in my limbs, and peeled my eyes open. I found myself lying on the curb, a short distance away from the smoking wreckage, Franklin's muscled body knelt before me. He stared at me, his shoulders drooped and eyes glossy. My heart clenched at his downcast expression, unease lined his features.

"You're gonna a'ight, baby," he said softly. There was blood all over his hands. Where was it coming from? The ache in my neck was too intense for me to move a muscle, I didn't have the strength to check my own wounds, all I could see was Franklin. He had a few bruises and scrapes on his arms and neck, but he seemed to be fine. Sirens wailed in the distance. "Paramedics are on the way, they finna be here any second now. Just hold on, sweetheart, a'ight?"

"F-Frank…" I tried to speak, but only whimpers slipped through my teeth, blood gushed from mouth. My eyelids were heavy, the urge to drift off to sleep was overwhelming.

Franklin gave me a stern shake, tears welled in his eyes. "N-no, stay awake baby, p-please," he pleaded, his lips trembled. He pressed his forehead to mine, his wet, salty tears dripped onto my cheeks. "I… I-I love you too, Trace. I love yo' ass so much…"

Through the aching pain and discomfort, I managed to crack a weak smile. Franklin's heartfelt words were the last thing I heard before everything went black again.

* * *

 **That's all folks! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think, your honest feedback is greatly appreciated! Your thoughts and input inspire me to continue this story, so help me on my journey to become a better writer, and please, leave a review. This story takes a lot of time to write, I need your support! I love you guys, thank you :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! I'm back again with another update! I got two chapters for you this time. This one is in Franklin's pov, hope you enjoy it :D**

* * *

 **Franklin**

The ambulance barreled hastily through the streets. Every head turned to follow the wailing siren, and the colorful streaks piercing the air. It's been hours since the paramedics took Tracey away.

Central Los Santos hospital was duller than I remembered. It was dark as hell in here. From the cracked ceilings down to the bland tiled floors, everything was washed out in gray. There was no openness, no room to stretch. The halls were so narrow and full of traffic with both feet and wheels, getting around was a struggle. The painted walls were chipped and flaking, revealing the concrete underneath. The stench of disinfectant grew stronger and stronger with every step I took further into the hospital.

There were voices in the distance, muffled and angry, yet familiar. A cold tremor shot down my spine. Every fiber of my being begged me to turn back. But I had to be strong. For her. Clenching my fists tight, I tried to remain calm. I can do this shit. I had to.

I made a left into Tracey's private hospital room. The door was gray, dull like all the others. There were people inside, doctors and nurses, and her family members—Michael, Amanda, and Jimmy. Trevor was here too. They surrounded her bed, so many bodies blocking the way, I couldn't get a clear view of her. Was she alive? Did the bleeding stop? Was she going to be okay? Was she awake? I had so many questions. I had to see her.

I approached the bed. Michael's eyes darted to me. There was a seething, bubbling hatred in his gaze, as if any second he would breathe fire out of his nostrils. My stomach clenched, and I took a step back.

"You have some fucking nerve showing your face here!" Michael shouted. Everyone turned from Tracey's bed, and stared at us, eyes wide with concern. His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, Michael pointed at Tracey. "Look at her, man! Look at what you did!"

She was unconscious, unmoving, her skin more purplish than pale. There was a cast around her neck and arm, and wires were glued to her chest, trailing up through the neck of her hospital gown. If it weren't for the beep of the heart rate monitor, I would had thought she was dead. Somehow, she was still alive, despite the heavy blood loss.

"I've protected my daughter for twenty-two years!" Michael continued. "The moment you walk into her life, every precaution I took to protect her went straight down the fucking drain."

"Ay, chill the fuck out, man," I said. "Madrazo is to blame for all this shit, not me."

"You delusional little shit," he scoffed. "My little girl doesn't give a fuck about your aunt. She decided to go through with this stupid fucking plan because of you, Frank. All of this shit is your fault, and I swear to god, if my daughter dies…" He stepped up to me, his fists clenched and shaking. "I will fucking bury you, understand me?"

My blood boiled. I met his fierce glare with my own. "For real? You gonna kill my ass, huh? After everythin' we've been through, just like that?"

Michael lifted his fingers, imitating a gun, he poked the side of my head. "I'll put a bullet in your skull, just like that, and not think twice about it—"

"Hey, enough of that shit," Trevor gripped Michael's shoulder, and yanked him back. "We're at a hospital, assholes. Have a little class, will ya? If you're gonna kill each other, do it elsewhere, alright?"

"Fuck you, Trevor! You've never been a father, you have no idea what this feels like…"

As Trevor and Michael began to argue and exchange insults with one another as usual, Amanda clutched my arm, and dragged me out of the hospital room, into the hall.

"You should go," she said, her voice weak, and eyes watery. "I don't have the strength to deal with Michael's attitude right now, and you are only making it worse."

I frowned. "Yeah, but…"

"She's in a coma, Franklin. What were you and Michael thinking? How dare you use my daughter as bait! Are you insane? You were supposed to protect her, not throw her into the fire! My daughter is not a piece of meat, you idiot."

"My bad," I muttered, my voice low, harsh, sour emotion tying knots in my stomach. "I didn't mean for none of this shit to happen, a'ight? I did everythin' I could."

Covering her face with her hands, Amanda sighed heavily. "You should have done more," she said. "My daughter deserves better."

The guilt spilled over like gasoline in my guts, her words ignited a flame that burned me from the inside out. I was at a loss for words. I wanted to apologize, to tell her how fucking sorry I was, but there was a lump in my throat, preventing me from choking out a single word.

"Franklin," she said, "It hurts for me to say this, but Michael was right about one thing. Nothing like this has ever happened to our daughter until she got involved with you. So, do me a favor, will you? Stay away from her, or you'll regret it."

She turned away, and returned to Tracey's room, shutting the gray door behind her.

* * *

I tossed and turned in bed all night, floating in a pool of fucked up memories, thinking and not thinking, constantly replaying Michael's and Amanda's threats in my head. I didn't want the morning to come. But here it was, teasing me with its sunlight, warm orange rays peaked through the glass windows, blinding me.

Slow and reluctantly, I rose, dragging my feet off the bed, and rubbed my knuckles into my eyes. The trauma to my brain from the car accident was worse than I thought. I couldn't get the moment of impact out of my head. One moment I was bullshitting with Lamar, and the next, our car was flipped upside down on the pavement. Hao was pale, bloody and limp, the life had drained from his eyes in a split second, and all I could do was watch.

Tracey's screaming had torn through me like a knife, it made my blood run cold. She cried and cried, desperate and terrified. My eyes widened, my pulse quickened, adrenaline surged through my veins as I rushed to save her. There was so much blood, I thought sure she wasn't gonna make it. She wheezed, struggling to breathe, choking on her own blood… fuck, it hurt to watch. Her ashen face, delicate and wet with tears—the image was branded so deep into my mind, whenever I blinked, I could see her, helplessly wavering on the brink of death.

I couldn't save her this time. In that moment, I was powerless. I couldn't do shit.

Everything that happened was my fault. If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't had offered herself up to Madrazo for my crazy ass aunt. She wouldn't had turned her back on her family for me. It was all my fucking fault. All a nigga knew how to do was fuck a good thing up. I knew better than to get so close to her. I knew I'd ruin shit somehow. She was in a coma now, with no guarantee of ever waking up. I fucked up her life.

I've done a lot of bad shit, I had a lot to make amends for. Normally I could bury the regret and get on with my day, but shit was different now. The guilt was eating away at me, slow and unforgiving. It would seep into my head, and gnaw at the back of my mind, demanding to be analyzed. Problem was, no amount of analysis was gonna turn back the clock. Dwelling on my mistakes ain't finna change a damn thing.

I had to man up and accept shit for what it was, make better decisions next time around. No more letting my emotions cloud my judgement. No more pain or regrets. If I kept my distance from her, from everyone I loved, living with myself would be easier. That way, I wouldn't be able to fuck shit up like I usually do. I was used to being alone anyway. It was for the best.

Distancing myself was easier said than done though. I was stuck at my old crib with Auntie D and Lamar for now. My house up in the hills was still a wreck after Madrazo and his crew ran through it.

"Franklin!" Auntie D's booming voice echoed through the house. "Breakfast is ready! Bring yo' ass out here and come eat, boy!"

I sighed. I wasn't in the mood to eat anything, but I knew Auntie D wouldn't take no for an answer. The moment I entered the kitchen and sat at the dining table, she served me a giant plate of food. Pancakes, bacon and eggs, with a side of grits, and a glass of orange juice. Chop sat at my feet, staring up at me and slobbering, his hot breath on my leg. At least one of us was excited for breakfast.

"Damn, Auntie D," I took a whiff of the meal, and smiled. "You ain't cooked me shit in years. What's goin' on? What's gotten into you?"

"I'm tryna make up for lost time, boy," she said, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. She slid into the seat beside me. "Now go on, eat. I was up all morning, sweating my ass off in front of that damn stove. I put my heart and soul into that food, so you best enjoy it."

"Good lookin' out, I appreciate it." I sunk my fork into the pancakes and rose a portion to my lips. Just as I was about to take a bite, the heat of Auntie D's stare stopped me in my tracks. "You really gonna sit here and watch me eat?" I asked. "You ain't poison my food or some shit, did you?"

"No, of course not, baby." For the first time ever, there was a softness in her voice, a gentleness I didn't know she was capable of. A shiver ripped up my spine. We've been in the same room for a minute now, and she hasn't called me worthless, or told me to shoo, or asked me to rub her nasty ass feet. What the fuck was going on? It was like I woke up in the Twilight Zone or some shit.

"I never got a chance to thank you for what you did," she said. "There's a lot of bad blood in this family, boy. But you still came through for your ol' auntie." She cupped my cheek. "You're a good boy, Franklin."

"Ummm…" My gaze dropped to my plate. "Thanks, I guess."

"Yo!" Hyper and high as always, Lamar shuffled into the room, a wide smile on his face. "What it is, family?"

Auntie D's eyes brightened at the sight of him. She stood, and like magnets, they rushed to one another—hugging and snuggling, whispering shit in each other's ears. They kissed, and my flesh crawled. Disgusting.

"Ay, can y'all save that nasty shit for the bedroom?" I grumbled, my nose wrinkled. "Don't nobody wanna see all that, man."

"You trippin', Frank," Lamar said. He pulled away from Auntie D, and swiped a strip of bacon from my plate. "Ain't nothing nasty 'bout getting some early morning lovin'. Love is a beautiful thing, dog. I ain't afraid to show it, there ain't nothing to be ashamed of, you feel me?"

"For real? The fuck you know 'bout love, man?"

"Plenty of shit," he said.

"Lamar is well versed in the language of love, boy," Auntie D added.

"You can learn from me, my nigga," Lamar said. "You a rigid, heartless ass motherfucker and that shit pains me. It ain't too late to change."

"Yeah, okay, nigga," I rolled my eyes.

"Lamar, don't you be talkin' 'bout my nephew like that," Auntie D pinched my cheeks. "You're a sweet little boy, you don't need to change for nobody."

I jerked back, my face burning with heat. "Chill," I muttered, trying to stifle my urge to grin. Lamar was chuckling too. Damn, this shit was awkward. Although her sudden, loving demeanor was weird, real weird, it was cool to know she was capable of not being so fucking angry all the time. Maybe Auntie D ain't so bad after all. Still, it was gonna take some getting used to.

"How's the renovations on your house going?" Auntie D asked.

"Good," I said. "That shit cost an arm and a leg, but it should be done soon."

"You don't belong up there with them rich white folks, boy. I've been looking at properties down in the country, by the Alamo Sea—it's real nice over there. Fresh air, nature, and a whole lot of land for cheap. Why don't you stay with your auntie? We can live somewhere nice for a change. I'll take care of you, baby. I can be the momma you ain't never had."

"Nah," I scoffed. "No offense, but it's a little too late for all that, Auntie."

"Well, the offer still stands in case you change your mind. Now finish your food, child. Me and my man are going out, we'll be back tonight." She took Lamar's hand, and strolled out of the kitchen.

"Where y'all fools going?" I called after them.

"We got a date!" Auntie D shouted.

I cringed, the thought of Lamar's dumb ass going on a date with my old ass aunt was straight up fucking weird. Hopefully the renovations on my crib were done soon. I wasn't sure how much longer I could put up with their bullshit. Thankfully they were leaving, so I could have the house to myself for a while.

I spent most of the day on the couch with a blunt between my fingers, my eyes glued to the flickering television. Chop laid beside me, watching TV too, his beady eyes followed the actors on the screen. I wasn't sure why I was watching it, I barely followed the plot, I didn't laugh when I was supposed to, I didn't feel any tension during the drama. My mind was elsewhere, still dwelling on my past fuckups, regurgitating bullshit I couldn't change. The weed wasn't helping. Instead, I found myself drowning again, being dragged deeper and deeper into a sea of dejected thoughts and remorse.

Maybe it was a good thing, to feel something besides emptiness, or the usual short bouts of anger I couldn't control. Somehow, all the scars I acclimated over the years hasn't bled the humanity out of me yet.

I yawned, and rubbed my sore eyes. Staring blankly at the television screen wasn't doing me any good. I grabbed the remote and shut it off. Without the white noise of the TV, there was a stillness in the air. No traffic or voices to be heard outside, every breath I took seemed to die the moment it left my lips. The neighborhood was quieter than usual tonight, eerie almost. There was no one around, not even Chop. Where'd little homie run off to? I coulda sworn he was just here a second ago…

The silence had me on edge. The house felt so empty and dead. I wanted Lamar and Auntie D to leave, but now that they were gone, being alone became a misery rather than a salve. I needed some company. I dug into my pocket and withdrew my phone. I scrolled through my notifications, and let out a heavy sigh. Six missed calls from Trevor, three from Jimmy, and one from Michael.

Michael called me? Why?

Nose scrunched up and brows furrowed, I gaped at my phone. He left a voicemail too. I was tempted to listen, but considering how mad that motherfucker was last time we spoke, it probably wasn't the best idea. I had enough shit weighing on my conscience already. The last thing I needed was him threatening me over the phone, throwing salt in wide open wounds—fuck that. I doubt the message had anything to do with Tracey, he didn't want me anywhere near her. I turned my phone off, and set it aside. The voicemail could wait.

 ** _Ding-dong!_**

The doorbell rang and rang, the harsh, shrill noise jerked me from my seat. Auntie D must have recently replaced the batteries, the ring was loud enough to wake the whole damn neighborhood. Desperate to stop the annoying fucking ringing, I strode to the door and yanked it open.

My breath hitched in my throat as I laid eyes on the unexpected visitor. "Tanisha?"

"Franklin?" Rouged cheeks flaming, she took a startled step back. Her eyes were bloodshot. Has she been crying?

"You a'ight?" I asked.

"I'm looking for Denise," she stated. "She here?"

"Nah." I glanced at my watch. "She should be back soon though."

"Where she went?"

"She went out with Lamar."

"For what?" She sniffed the air, and glanced over my shoulder. "Y'all got weed up in there? Or some lean?"

I furrowed my brows. "What's good with all the fuckin' questions? You down with the feds or some shit?"

"Nigga please," she rolled her eyes. "Do I look like I'm down with the fucking feds?"

"I dunno, girl. You ain't been around the hood in a while, and now you showin' up out of the blue, lookin' for some damn weed and cough syrup. A motherfucker got a right to be suspicious—"

"Damn Franklin, yo' ass ain't change one bit, you know that?" She smiled. "Look, I really ain't in the mood to argue with you tonight. I heard about the shit that went down between you and the Mexicans. I'm worried about y'all, alright? I thought maybe we could kick it one last time, for old time's sake. So what it do? You gonna let me in or not?"

* * *

Tanisha lounged on the couch, her dark hair lying over one shoulder of her leather jacket. With a glass of wine in one hand, and a rolled blunt in the other, she lolled her head to the side, licking her plump red lips as she gazed at me.

"I still can't believe it," she chuckled. "Your aunt and Lamar together? That ain't gonna last long. Everybody know Lamar ain't no damn good. I love him to death, but that fool been a trifling ass nigga since the day he was born. Denise gone and lost her damn mind."

I sat beside her, carefully rolling my blunt wrap with weed, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Auntie D ain't have no damn mind to begin with," I said. "Neither does Lamar. Them crazy motherfuckers are perfect for one another."

"What about you? How you been? What you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, just been chillin'. Same old shit."

"Same old shit, huh? Like gangbanging? Robbing and stealing? Being a menace to society?"

"Nah, everythin' but that. I don't bang no more."

"You ain't got to lie," she teased. "Remember that time we went to that party on Grove Street with Lamar, and found out it was a Ballas gang initiation?"

"Fo' sho'," I smiled. "Some Balla bitch at the party told us initiation for rival gang members was to get stomped to death by nine niggas, and if you survive, they let you in. Most motherfuckers didn't make it. Lamar's dumb ass was still with it though."

She laughed, lightly, she touched my arm. "Lamar wanted to be part of The Families, and the Ballas at the same damn time. He thought he was low with it too, like everybody didn't see all them big ass Families tattoos on his arms. They were brand new too, all red and shit."

"Man, we was 'bout to get our asses beat. We had to get the fuck up outta there. But no cabs would stop for no scary, gangly looking motherfuckers like me and Lamar, so we had to walk. Lamar was having a fit the whole fuckin' time, like he wanted them dudes to stomp a mudhole in his ass."

"Right?" She nudged me playfully. "Oh, remember when we made it back to Chamberlain Hills, and stopped at the chicken spot? Lamar so was drunk and high, he fell asleep at the table."

"And we left his ass there," I snorted. "His moms called us like fifteen minutes later, askin' where he was. We told her the last time we seen him, he was at the chicken joint."

"We shouldn't have left him," she snickered. "He came to school the next day tore up, with a black eye and knots all over his head."

"I thought the Ballas did it to him. I started plottin', making moves to hit them niggas back. Come to find out, it was his momma that whooped his ass."

Tanisha bursts out into laughter, her drunken giggles so contagious that I couldn't help but crack up too. Every snort and cackle we let out chipped away at the tension between us, until only calmness and good vibes remained. There was something about her laugh, and the wide, rosy smile on her face. It warded off the loneliness, distracted me from the pain, and all the fucked up shit I've been going through lately.

Before long, she was in my arms, snuggling close, her warm breath on my neck. "Man, those were some good times," she said. "We were so young, but it was good. I was happy back then."

"You ain't happy no more, girl?" I asked.

"I mean, the truth? I was the happiest around you. I wasn't stressed. I felt like I was the baddest bitch around. I felt free…" She sighed heavily, "What happened to us, Franklin?"

"We grew up. Well, you did."

"I got tired of the hood life, so I left, only to realize the grass ain't much greener on the other side. That fairy tale crap they be callin' the 'American Dream'—children, white picket fences, and a fucking station wagon… it ain't for me. I feel like I've been living a lie for months now, tryna be someone I ain't, to please some rich ass nigga I don't even love. I want things to be simple again." Her manicured fingers cupped my chin, our eyes met. "I miss how things used to be between us."

I've seen Tanisha sad a million times, angry even more. When she was pissed, her thin brows would crease, and her plump lips would curve into a snarl. But shit was different now. For the first time in a long time, there was a twinkle in her eye when she looked at me. She was happy, genuinely happy, like she used to be back in the day, when we were high school sweethearts, young and naïve, full of life.

The good memories we shared flashed through my mind. I was innocent back then, with too much time on my hands. We spent hours on the corner just talking, laughing, making stupid jokes, and getting into trouble. When we weren't on the block chilling, I was at home, tripping over love songs, missing her. Shit really was good back then.

Tanisha drew close, her soft lips brushed over mine. It was a light kiss, restrained, her heavy, quaking breath carried the scent of alcohol. "Tell me I ain't the only one feelin' this way," she muttered. I froze, speechless, her lips continued to caress mine, her slender fingers stroked my chest, gentle and shy, as if this were her first time.

I wanted things to be like it used to be, when were teenagers. I wanted to be in love with her like before. But I wasn't. I didn't feel anything for her. Her touch didn't feel the same, her kisses felt wrong, she wasn't the same person I fell in love with. And I wasn't the same dude. I changed, and she did too. Tanisha was a married woman now. Whatever problems she had going on with her man, she needed to take her ass home and work that shit out.

My heart belonged to someone else. I'm done trying to deny that shit. The truth's never been clearer until now.

I shifted from her grasp, and pulled away. "I… I can't do this shit with you, girl. I'm sorry."

"N-no, I'm the one who should be sorry," Tanisha said, her voice cracked with emotion. "I made a mistake." Tears brimming on her eyelids, she stood, and swiped my weed off the table before storming out of the house in a hurry, her heels clicking against the floor with every frantic step.

I snorted, and shook my head. Usually, I'd be mad if someone stole my weed and walked out. But I let it slide this time. Tanisha looked like she needed the high a lot more than I did.

* * *

It's been days since Tanisha left. I lost track of how many, I kept myself locked away in my room most of the time, doing absolutely nothing besides sleeping. I didn't want to go anywhere, I didn't want to do anything, despite how much Lamar begged me to. Time seemed to slowly trickle away, my life slipping through my fingers. Worst part of it all, I didn't care.

Lamar and Auntie D have been arguing every night now. He's been sleeping on the couch lately. I wasn't sure how each argument started, or what they were about, but their muffled, booming voices made the walls of my room quake. It's been hard to get any sleep with so much commotion going on.

I visited Tracey today. It would be better for everyone if I kept my distance, but shit wasn't that simple. I missed her. Luckily, no one was around when I dropped by. She was in a deep sleep still, although her wounds seemed to be healing. The bruises on her face and neck were fading. I left flowers at her bedside, and the panda I won for her at the Vespucci Beach festival. It was a risky move. Michael was agitated enough already, if he found out I was here, he'd most definitely try to kill me.

But fuck it, it was worth it. She loved that panda bear. Maybe the little guy could watch over her for me. I could sleep easier knowing she always had a friend at her side, even if it was just a stuffed animal. It meant a lot to her regardless.

It was a sunny day in Los Santos as usual. Traffic was a motherfucker on the way back to my aunt's crib, I should had known better than to drive during rush hour. It took me about an hour to get home. The moment I pulled into the driveway, I noticed something was… off.

The front door was wide fucking open, not a good sign, especially in the hood. A cold tremor shot down my spine. Auntie D was way too paranoid to leave doors open, especially the front. I drew my pistol from the waistband of my jeans, better safe than sorry. Cautiously, I approached the house.

Stepping through the door, for a moment, I thought I was in the wrong place. There was no furniture in this motherfucker. The living room couch was gone, and the TV, all the tables and chairs disappeared, even the fucking family pictures on the wall were missing. Did somebody rob us? Who the fuck steals family pictures?

Throughout the empty house, slight noises echoed. Moving along the wall, quietly, I tailed after the muffled sound. Auntie D's bedroom door was open to a crack. There was someone inside, light footsteps shuffled against the carpeted floors from within. Heartbeat racing and gun raised high, I eased the door open.

Lamar cringed, all alone in my aunt's empty ass room, his eyes widened at the sight of my gun. "What the fuck, dog? I thought we were cool, man. You that mad about me smashing your auntie?

Exhaling loudly, the tension left my body. I lowered my gun. "Now that you mention it, I should put a cap in yo' silly ass for fuckin' around with my auntie. You a lowdown, dirty, skeleton in the closet ass motherfucker for keepin' that shit a secret so long."

Lamar sucked his teeth, and waved a hand at me dismissively. There was a handwritten letter in his grasp. It looked like Auntie D's writing. "You the only motherfucker up in here, Frank," he said, "waving guns around, tryna intimidate your boy. Better luck next time, bitch. I wasn't even scared."

"Man, you just about pissed yourself, nigga. Where the fuck is all our furniture at? Somebody robbed our shit?"

"I dunno what happened, homie. I remember being real drunk last night, passed out on the couch, and when I woke up, I was on the floor. Motherfuckers musta swiped the couch right from under me, man."

"What?" I snatched the letter from his grip. "The fuck you doin' with this? I know yo' stupid ass can't read for shit."

"My baby wrote me that shit." He tried to yank it from my hand, but I shoved him back. "Damn man, that's a love letter right there. Respect my privacy, ol' nosy ass bitch—"

"Shut yo' ass up and let me read, fool." I skimmed over the letter. Thankfully, it was short, and straight to the point.

 _Dear nephew, and that cheap ass, two-timing, scandalous ass fool Lamar,_

 _If you're reading this, you must know I'm gone. You might be real confused right now. Mad too. If you are, good. Stay mad. And don't follow me, I need to be alone. Franklin, you can keep the house, boy. Lamar, you can just pack your stuff and get the hell on, fool._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Auntie Denise._

 _P.S. I know y'all knuckleheads will look for me regardless. If you do, just don't bring y'all asses to Sandy Shores, 'cause I ain't gonna there. Have a nice life._

"This ain't no love letter, stupid," I muttered. "Did you even read this shit? It's a goodbye letter, dog. She's gone."

"What?" He grabbed the letter, and focused hard, his eyebrows scrunched together as he studied the page. Once he was done reading, the page slipped from his fingers. He winced, his stare glossy for only a moment before he blinked the tears away. "T-that P.S. she put up in there look real suspicious, homie. You think she in Sandy Shores?"

"She can be on the moon for all I fuckin' care. I ain't gon' spend the rest of my life chasin' after her ass. Whatever drama you got goin' on with Denise, leave me the fuck outta it."

"I ain't never left you out of a damn thing, man. We boys, remember? Homies for life." He clasped my shoulder, and gazed at me with bloodshot, pleading eyes. "Where you go, I go, and vice versa, y'know what I'm sayin'? I'm about to be out to Sandy Shores to find my girl. You down to ride, or nah?"

* * *

 **And that's a wrap. Hope you're enjoying the fic so far! Nine chapters down lol, man we've come a long way. Leave a review, honest feedback is always welcome :). Thanks so much for the support y'all, please let me know what you think, you guys are the fuel that drives me to continue this fanfic! I need to hear your opinions!**


	10. Chapter 10

**We're back in our girl's Tracey's pov! Lets get to reading :D**

* * *

 **Tracey**

I awoke suddenly, no slow warming up or sleepiness. I sat up, eyes wide and alert, the last remnants of my dream erased. There was a cast on my arm and neck, my legs were numb, I could barely feel them at all. Everything ached, and a shooting pain throbbed in my stomach, like something was squeezing and yanking at my insides. Crap, it hurt so bad. There were no signs of blood, but my belly was bruised. What happened to me? Where the heck was I?

There were wires all over me, connected to big machines beside me. There was an IV secured into my hand with tape. The cute bohemian dress I borrowed from Franklin's aunt had been replaced with a gown, like those ugly blue ones they give you at the hospital…

I frowned, the realization that I had been admitted into a hospital began to sink in. I bit my lip, my gaze darted about the room. It was like a concrete pen, empty and lonely, the air reeked of disinfectant. I snatched the oxygen tubes out of my nose, and gazed at door. Where was everyone?

There was a bouquet of fresh sunflowers beside my bed, a cute little stuffed animal was propped on the glass vase. It was a panda bear—the one Franklin gave me on our first date! I smiled, and swept the animal into my arms. My heart fluttered. I missed my panda so much. I missed Franklin even more. I needed to see him. I would call him, but I didn't have a phone…

The door swung open. Uncle T appeared, his gaunt, scarred face brightened at the sight of me. "Tracey!" he exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug. His rough embrace was rather painful, and he stunk of beer and sweat, but I fought through the discomfort, hugging him back. Despite everything, I was glad to see him.

"We fucking did it, kid," Uncle T said, he gave me a playful noogie on my head. "Madrazo is done, he's a thing of the past!"

"Really?" My heart skipped a beat. "He's gone?"

"He's six feet under, gone, dead, in the grave and laid to rest, the slippery fucker didn't get away this time." He smiled. "No more looking over your shoulder, wondering if a little Mexican fucker is going to pop out and shank ya. No more hiding, no more dread—your old man and I settled things with Vagos and the cartel. Your life of being an useless damsel in distress is finally over! How does it feel?"

"Um…" I narrowed my eyes at him. His words sounded too good to be true. "Is he really gone? Did you and Dad kill him?"

"Tracey, the guy is dead, and he ain't coming back. And for a moment there, I thought you weren't coming back either."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been out for almost a week now, kiddo."

I cringed, "Seriously?"

"Yep. Wow, your father is gonna fuckin' lose it when he finds out you're finally awake. Man, the poor sap hasn't been himself since you've been out. All he does is whine and complain—'I ruined my kid's life', 'I'm a terrible father', so much tears and regret…" Uncle T shook his head. "It's pathetic, honestly."

A man in a lab coat strode into the room, his wrinkled face hard and stern. He moved with purpose, gazing at me for only a second before his sight quickly settled on the chart within his gnarled grasp. "Finally awake, Ms. DeSanta?" he asked, his voice was deep and scratchy, as if he had had far too many cigarettes in his lifetime. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you blind, doctor?" Uncle T asked. "Look at her! My niece has just awoken from the brink of death, she's covered in bruises from head to toe, she looks like hell, man. We—I mean, she, needs painkillers! The strongest you got, pronto."

"Sir, I'll need to run some tests first—"

"Fuck your tests, you insensitive little cunt." Hands balled into fists, and muscles tensed, Uncle T glared at the doctor, his tone grew low and threatening. "Go get us the drugs, _now_."

"O-okay," the doctor cowered, and retreated for the exit.

A wave of nervousness hit me. For a moment, I had forgotten how crazy he could get sometimes…

Uncle T turned to face me, and smiled, his threatening demeanor quickly dispersed. "You know, I just don't get doctors. To be so smart, they ask the dumbest fucking questions. It really grinds my gears—"

"What doesn't grind those deranged gears of yours, T?" Dad's smooth voice filled the room. He stepped through the door, and I beamed at him. I never thought I'd be so excited to hear the click-clack of his fancy shoes as he approached.

"Daddy!" I called out to him.

Dad stopped in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on me, his jaw dropped. "T-Tracey?"

"Hey, Dad," I replied. "Missed me?"

A slow smile building on his face, he rushed to my side, and threw his arms around me. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he his voice cracked with emotion. "My baby girl! You're awake. Jesus Christ, it's been so long. I-I thought you weren't gonna make it."

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Told ya she'd be alright, Mikey," Uncle T said. "She's a tough kid."

"Of course she's tough, she's a DeSanta for crying out loud," Dad said. He planted a kiss on my forehead. "I gotta call your mother and let her know the good news. Man, she's gonna be stoked. I'll be right back, princess."

Dad pulled away, and disappeared into the hall.

I felt the heat of Uncle T's gaze on me. "Nice panda you got there," he said. "And the flowers—where'd it come from?"

"I think it's from Frank," I replied. "Have you seen him lately?"

"Nope, haven't seen your boyfriend since the night you guys had that car accident. I wanted to offer my condolences for the death of his Asian buddy—Hao I think his name was, right?"

"What?" I frowned. "Hao is dead?"

"He died instantly I heard, from the heads on collusion. It was a nasty accident, kid. It's a miracle you and Frank are still breathing."

My heart sank as I took in the news of Hao's demise. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't fair that I was alive, and he wasn't. He risked everything to save my life. But why? He barely knew me. Why did he decided to go to war with Madrazo anyway? It was too late to ask Hao anything now, but maybe Franklin knew.

Tears swelled in my eyes. Where the heck was Franklin? I needed him to be here. "Have you tried calling him?" I asked.

"Plenty of times, but my calls go straight to voicemail. Weird, right? It's not like Frank to avoid his friends, the kid is far too loyal, one of my favorite qualities about him."

"Uncle T," I sniffed. "Can you please help me find my boyfriend?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can do that for you. I'll ask around, kick a few doors down maybe, and see if I get any leads on where he might be. I think I'll make a stop at his auntie's house first, one of the homies in the neighborhood is bound to know something. Be back in a jiffy—"

"Wait." Although it hurt like hell, I managed to climb out of bed to my feet. "Take me with you."

"What?" Uncle T scoffed. "How am I gonna take you anywhere? You got a broken arm, a fucking cast on your neck—you can barely walk, kid."

"I don't care," I muttered, wincing as I took a careful step forward. I wasn't going to get far while hooked up to all these machines, but I didn't care. My legs abruptly gave out. I yelped, Uncle T broke my fall before I hit the floor.

"Jesus! Take it easy, will ya? C'mon, let's get you back to bed—"

"No!" With all the strength I could muster, I rose to my feet yet again. "It might take me years, but I'll find my boyfriend no matter how bad it hurts, whether it's the last thing I do." I gazed at Uncle T. "So are you going to help me find him, or not?"

He smirked. "You got fire in your eyes, kid. You won't take no for an answer, I like that. I was the same way around your age, I grabbed life by the balls and screwed everyone who tried to get in my way. You and I—we're one in the same. You know what? Fuck it, I'm breaking you out of sick, lifeless hole. C'mon, let's blow this joint, and go find the love of your life."

* * *

It was a bright, sunny afternoon in the city. Forum Drive was rowdy as usual, dogs barking, children playing tag in the streets, pedestrians strolled along, chatting with one another as they walked. The sun beamed on my face, glistening over the street's pavement, my gaze locked on the blue, cloudless sky. It felt amazing to be out of that concrete pen of a hospital. I didn't need any stupid doctors, I didn't need medication. I could live and breathe off the city's beauty alone.

Uncle T and I made a stop at a Suburban clothing store before we made it to Franklin's old neighborhood. I had to change out of that ugly hospital gown for some real clothes. I threw on the first outfit I saw at the shop—a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top.

Uncle T parked his pickup truck on the side of the road before Franklin's aunt's bungalow. He helped me out of the passenger seat, allowing me to lean on him for support.

"I got something for ya," he reached into the bed of the truck, and handed me a pair of crutches. "I swiped them on our way out of the hospital. Here, this should help you get around, kid."

I smiled at my crazy, awesome uncle, who wasn't really my uncle but I still loved him all the same. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Hey, I got about ten missed calls from your father. I gotta feeling he isn't taking our sudden disappearance from the hospital too well, so let's make this quick before the fat fuck has a heart attack, alright?"

I followed Uncle T's lead toward the house. These crutches were going to take some getting used to, climbing the porch steps alone was extremely exhausting. It didn't help that Uncle T was always in such a rush, maintaining my balance in order to keep up with him was a battle itself. However, it was my decision to ditch the hospital and come all this way, and I was determined to see it through.

Uncle T pounded on the front door. "Hello? Anybody home?"

We waited for a minute or so for someone to answer. No one came. I pressed my ear to the door. I couldn't hear a thing on the other side, no footsteps, no voices—nothing.

"I don't think anyone's home," I said.

Uncle T stepped aside and glanced through the window. "Well, would ya look at that? Looks like Frankie's auntie packed up and moved without sending a memo. That, or all of her shit has been stolen."

"What are you talking about?" I took his side and peered through the dusty glass into the living room. Uncle T was right, all the furniture inside was gone. The house was empty from what I could tell, all that remained was cobwebs and dust.

"Hey!" a voice called out from behind us. There was a slender black woman staring at us from the sidewalk. Headphones hanging loosely around her neck, and blue tracksuit soaked with sweat, she bounced up and down in place to the rhythm of her music. Seemed like she was having a good workout. "Y'all looking for Denise?"

"We sure are, darling," Uncle T replied. "Have you seen her?"

She shook her head, the masses of her kinky curls swayed with every movement. "Denise ain't here no more, been gone for about a day now. Just packed up and moved—ain't tell a soul about it."

"Do you have any idea where she went?" I asked.

"Girl, I don't know nothing. But word on the street is, she left her man behind too. Packed her shit while his broke ass was sleepin', and ain't been heard from since."

"Her man?" I blinked. "You mean Lamar?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Could be. I never got his name."

"What did he look like?" Uncle T asked. "Was he really tall and dumb looking by any chance?"

"Oh yeah, he's a tall, young fella—way too young for Denise, if you ask me. Oh, and he had tattoos, the gangly type, and his hair was real nappy, that boy ain't put a comb to his head since the day he was born."

I glanced at Uncle T. "Sounds like Lamar to me."

He nodded. "The description definitely fits the bill."

"She could do better," the woman continued. "I heard him and her nephew were real close—"

"The jig is up, lady!" Uncle T blurted out, his grating voice echoed through the air. "Does it look like I give a shit what you heard? I'm not here for conversation, I'm not here for gossip. It's obvious you know a lot more than you're letting on. What are you hiding, huh?" Eyes bulging, he took a menacing step forward. "Tell us where the auntie is before things get violent—"

"Uncle T!" I nudged him with the padded end of my crutch. "Can you stop acting crazy for just one freaking second?"

"Hey, watch your tone, young lady," he said. "I don't tell you how to live your life, do I? I'd appreciate the same courtesy in return—"

"What do y'all white folks want with Denise anyway?" the woman asked. "Y'all ain't the popo or the IRS, are you?"

"Stay here and let me do the talking, Uncle T," I grumbled as I carefully hopped toward her on my crutches. Once I finally reached her and we were face to face, I flashed a warm smile. "Hi, my name's Tracey. Sorry about my uncle, he tends to get a little crazy and lash out at unsuspecting strangers when he's worried. You see, he's like, super concerned about Denise. It's not like her to up and leave out of the blue, you know?"

"You need to get your crazy ass uncle some help." She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a pen. "Look, I can give you her new number, but that's the best I can do."

"Perfect!" Uncle T jogged to my side. "What's the digits?"

The woman wrote the number on my arm cast, and swerved past us, resuming her jog.

"Looks like that cast of yours is good for something, huh?" Uncle T smiled.

"That lady has awesome memory," I said. "I suck at remembering phone numbers."

"You and I both. But when I was around your age, I had the memory of a dolphin—true, high precision, photographic memory. It was the type of shit you'd read about in a book or see in a movie—"

"Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely. I was an amazing kid, well, I'm pretty great now too, but I was even more so back in the day. The sad part is, no one knew, or even cared to notice my greatness. But that's a discussion for another day, we got a job to do, kid. Your boyfriend is missing and somebody's gotta find 'em. We can give my boy Lester a call, trace the auntie's number, and finally get to the bottom of this mystery. If we're lucky, it might lead us to Franklin too."

"Why don't we just trace Franklin's number instead?"

"We'll trace them both. Hell, we'll even trace Lamar's too, just out of curiosity. I like to keep very, very close tabs on my circle of friends—on your father especially. You might not know this sweetheart, but he's a wolf in sheep's clothing. Slippery bastard isn't to be trusted."

"You can tell me all about it after we find Franklin." I whirled around, and set off toward Uncle T's pickup truck. "He might be in trouble. It's not like him to just up and disappear like this."

"It's not Frank you should be worried about," Uncle T took my side. "It's Lamar. If Franklin's auntie really left him in the dust, the poor guy is gonna be in shambles."

"You knew about their relationship too, huh?"

"Of course I knew. I was the first to know, long before he mentioned a word about it to you and Frank. Lamar and I—we're close. We hang out all the time, we have a strong friendship, built on trust, loyalty, and respect."

I shook my head. Lamar and Uncle T hanging out sounded like a recipe for disaster. They were both psychotic, and had a bad habit for getting into trouble. Who knew how much chaos ensued whenever they were together?

Although Lamar was unstable and difficult to understand at times, there was one thing I knew for sure. He had feelings for Franklin's aunt, so much that he was willing to put his life on the line for her. If she really did walk out on him, despite her reasons, I doubt he's handling it well.

Once we reclaimed our seats within the pickup truck, Uncle T wrangled his cellphone from his jean pocket. Although the device was dented, bent out of shape, and the screen was cracked, it still managed to make phone calls. Tapping my feet against the floor, I waited for Uncle T to get his friend on the line.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, after what felt like forever, a voice answered, awkward and nasally. "Hello?"

"Lester!" Uncle T shouted. "How ya doing, old pal?"

Lester sighed heavily. "Great, it's you again. What do you want, Trevor?"

"Straight to the point, huh? Okay, so, can you do me a solid? I need you to track a couple numbers for me."

"No. We've been through this already, I'm done spying on people for you—"

"It's important this time. Frank is missing."

"Missing? Something happen to him? How did you and Michael fuck things up this time?"

"Jesus!" Uncle T blurted. "All the fucking questions! Our friend could be rotting in a ditch somewhere, and you're babbling on, wasting valuable time. Can you help us find him or not?"

"Alright, alright, calm down. I'll see what I can do." There was a moment of silence. I crossed my fingers, hoping for good news as I stared anxiously at the phone. "You're not going to believe this, Trevor," Lester snickered.

"Try me," Uncle T replied.

"If my sources are correct, which they are ninety-nine percent of the time… our friend, Frank, is in Sandy Shores."

My eyes widened. What the heck was he doing there? Why on f-ing earth would he go back to the desert?

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 **Oh my god, y'all! Ten chapters down! Thank you so much for staying along for the ride, we've come a long way together lol. It was hard work, but it was worth it. I know the chapters might take a while to update, but I like to take my time when I write, so I can supply you guys with (hopefully) quality content. Please leave a review, fav and follow if you like the fic and want me to continue, I need your support! Thank you so much guys, I love you!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey y'all! I'm back with another update, right on time too! Tracey continues her quest to find her man. Let's get to reading :)**

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Sand crackling under the tires of Uncle T's old pickup truck, we sat in silence as the sputtering car engine sung to the lonely desert roads. Cool air poured through the windows, whipping against my hair and whistling in my ears. After hours of driving, the sun had begun to dip behind the horizon, painting the sky hues of orange and pink. We had finally reached Sandy Shores.

The town was a deserted maze of narrow, dust caked streets, riddled with potholes and decayed roadkill. The dingy dives and trailers we cruised by were all broken down and rotted, their doors halfway off the hinges, groaning with every sway. There was a stillness in the air, an eerie calmness that had me on edge.

Although Sandy Shores was a creepy ghost town, the long trip here was worth it. Franklin was around here somewhere, at a bar to be specific, according to Lester. Thankfully, Uncle T knew exactly where the bar was located, he's been living in this town for years after all. With his guidance, we were bound to find Franklin in no time.

"So, what do you think of the town, kid?" Uncle T asked, glancing at me for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. "Beautiful, isn't it? Quiet, and secluded, surrounded by nature, and the best part of all? No narcissistic, plastic dickbags to be seen for miles and miles, unlike that piece of shit city you're so accustomed to. Los Santos is getting worse and worse by the day, Tracey. The pretentious scumbags, the gentrification, pollution, noise, increasing crime rates—the list goes on and on. Do yourself a favor and get out of there while you still can."

I rolled my eyes. Los Santos was so much better than this piece of crap town. It wasn't worth starting an argument over though, so I bit my tongue. Uncle T was easily agitated, even more so than my dad. There was no need to risk getting on his bad side, especially considering how nice he's been to me lately.

"Right there, that's the place," Uncle T pointed to a rustic tavern down the road, its bright, neon colored bar signs shone like a beacon in the night.

Uncle T made a sharp turn off the main street, and into the parking lot. He nosed into a space, and cut the engine. There were a few motorcycles and old cars occupying the lot, none of them belonged to Franklin. I sighed.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked.

"I'm one-hundred percent sure this is the place," Uncle T said. He exited the vehicle, and opened the passenger door for me. "Let's get in there and find your long-lost boyfriend, shall we?"

Uncle T took the lead, and I hopped after him on my crutches. We strode through the bar's glass door, and was greeted by a bizarre silence. No music, or voices, the few patrons within were hunched over the brass counter, seemingly in a drunken haze, their glazed eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. Broken glass, blood, and alcohol coated the wooden floor, tables and chairs were flipped over, the jukebox was smoking, pool cues were snapped in half. My stomach dropped. What happened in here?

Despite how badly damaged the bar was, the redheaded bartender continued her job as usual, causally cleaning mugs and serving drinks to those sober enough to grunt for a refill. She was an older woman, her hair was styled into a neatly shaped bob. Her eyes darted to Uncle T. "You're banned," she stated.

"Is that anyway to greet an old friend, Janet?" Uncle T asked, sliding into a stool at the counter.

"Really?" Janet scoffed. "We're friends now?"

"Sure we are," he said. "We're friends, aren't we? It must be so miserable, being a lonely widow like yourself, serving depressed losers alcohol for a living, and then having to listen to their shitty problems—god, it must be torture. And judging by the look of this place, you could use a friend right now more than ever. So lay it on me! What happened to this fine establishment?"

"It went to hell in a handbasket, that's what," she said. "Two urban fellas showed up earlier, asking questions and demanding answers about some woman. They were making my customers antsy, so I told them they either settle down and buy a drink, or get the hell outta my bar. One of 'em didn't take it too well, started cursing up a storm, and gettin' rowdy. The situation escalated quickly, somebody threw a bottle, and before long, a barfight broke out."

"Tell me more about the 'urban fellas'," Uncle T said. "By 'urban', you mean black, right?"

"They were city boys, had that fish out of water look, like they didn't belong," she shrugged. "But yes, they happened to be black. I bet they're in a gang too, the lowlifes."

I rolled my eyes. She had to be talking about Franklin and Lamar. "How long ago were they here, lady?" I asked.

"Had to be about forty-five minutes ago," she answered. "Called the sheriff on them, but they made a run for it before he arrived. The whole town is on alert though, they stick out like a sore thumb. Won't be long before they're caught."

"Great, well, we oughta get going now," Uncle T rose from his seat. "Thanks for the info, you're an angel."

"I'd steer clear of those boys if I were you," Janet said. "Nothin' but trouble, the two of them."

Uncle T waved goodbye, and turned for the exit. I followed at his heels, back to the pickup truck. "Now what?" I asked, reclaiming my seat.

Uncle T took the wheel, and turned on the ignition, the engine hummed to life. There was a police car on the road, gliding along slow, their headlights casting a bright beam through the night's shadows. "Well, looks like the boys in blue want to find Frankie and Long Dick just as bad as we do," Uncle T said.

I frowned. "I hope they're okay."

"I know this town better than almost anybody, I got dozens of places they can lay low. We just gotta get to them before the cops do. They couldn't have gotten far." Uncle T gazed at me. "Things might get hectic from here on out, kid. Are you sure you wanna do this?"

"Yes! My boyfriend is like, way too handsome to end up in jail! Do you have any idea what they'd do to him? We have to help him. What are we going to do?"

"Let's search around, see if we find anything suspicious—"

Uncle T's phone began to chime. He wrangled it from his pocket and stared at the screen. "Well, what do ya know? It's a text from Lester."

"What does it say?" I asked.

"Check Lifeinvader," Uncle T scratched his beard. "Why the fuck would I do that? I hate social media, I avoid it like a plague, the government is monitoring everything—"

"Just do it! Check Franklin's and Lamar's page. It might give us a lead."

"Fine." Uncle T opened the web browser application, and scrolled down to the Lifeinvader link. It took him forever to remember his login credentials. I didn't even know he had an account, he never sent me or Dad a friend request. Maybe he really did hate social media. "I'm in," he said, finally logging into his account. He punched Franklin's full name into the search bar, and scrolled through his page.

"See anything interesting?" I asked, peeking over his shoulder to get a better look at the phone. Franklin's wall was full of messages from his friends, Lamar mostly, none of which he cared to respond to. Unfortunately, all the posts were weeks old, and no help to us.

"Nothing useful here," Uncle T said. "This is a waste of time, Lester's fucking with us."

"Let's check Lamar's, just to be sure."

With an incoherent grumble, Uncle T reluctantly switched to Lamar's page, and together, we browsed through it. Unlike Franklin, Lamar seemed to be very active on social media. He had dozens of recent videos and pictures with plenty of likes, a lot of status updates too, some of which had just been posted today.

 _About to be out to Sandy Shores with my homeboy, on the hunt 4 the one who got away. Any of U bitchz down for a roadtrip?_

 _Just got finished cracking some racist white dudes with a bottle, they don't know about CGF down here, but they gone learn today #symbolofmyoppression_

 _Who knew country bumpkins could turn up? It's lit on Armadillo Avenue, bitchzz are flockin like bees on honey and your boy is out here looking type sweet, U feel me?_

"Looks like Lamar moved on from Franklin's poor old auntie pretty fast," Uncle T said. "Not sure if I should be proud, or ashamed."

"His last post was three minutes ago," I said. "What's on Armadillo Avenue?"

"Nothing but a bunch of beat up houses and tattoo parlors. Let's hightail it over there, and find out what kind of trouble Lamar's gotten himself into. Hopefully Frank is still with him." He stepped on the gas, and we swerved out of the parking lot.

The street Lamar mentioned was, thankfully, only a few blocks away. The moment we made a turn off the main road, and onto the narrow street known as Armadillo avenue, shouting and the blaring sound of country music resonated through the air. The noise was coming from a red brick house in the distance. Shoddy and run-down like all the others around here, the home looked like something out of a story book, the roof itself was made of straw, and the windows were circular, gaping holes for wind and sandy debris to flow in and out freely.

Uncle T pulled up before the house, and parked the car on the curb. There were people in straw hats and dusty cowboy boots out on the lawn, dancing to the classic country tunes blasting from within the house, while others fought among themselves in a drunken stupor, cursing at and shoving one another. No wonder Sandy Shores seemed so empty, just about everyone in town was here, letting loose and partying beneath the stars.

"Somebody in town is throwing a fucking party and decided not to invite me?" Uncle T grumbled. "I'm the CEO of Trevor Philips Enterprises, the most influential bastard in this town! Look at all these inbred twats—I should gouge their eyes out, every single one of them!"

His mouth set in a grim line and muscles vibrating, Uncle T threw the car door open and stomped toward the house, shoving everyone who dared block his path. I stumbled after him on my crutches, but I couldn't keep up with his anger fueled stride. He left me behind, disappearing through the front door as I struggled to navigate through the weedy lawn and crowds of sweaty, dancing bodies.

Once I finally neared the splintered porch steps, a fat, hairy frame slipped in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. It was a man, morbidly obese, and eerily pale, his chubby face puffed up into grin at the sight of me, revealing his chipped, awkwardly spaced teeth. Creepy.

"Excuse me," I muttered, attempting to swerve around him.

He mirrored my movement, blocking my path yet again. The guy was as big as a whale, and just as intimidating. Staring at the wide, hunched back man, my palms grew damp. "You ain't from around here," he said, his bloodshot eyes twitched erratically. "New in town?"

"Y-yes," I stammered. "I'm here with my uncle—"

"Where?" his shifty eyes scanned the area. "I don't see no Uncle. You're here by yourself, I reckon? Care to dance, pretty thing?"

"With you?" I rolled my eyes. "Ew, not in a million years, butterball. I have a boyfriend, thank you very much."

"That's a shame, darlin'," his glare lowered to my crutches. "Something happen to your legs, little lady? You know, my momma can't walk too good either. She can really use some crutches of her own, pushing her around in a wheelchair is real hard on my back. You should give her yours. She'd be mighty grateful, I reckon."

"Are you crazy? I need these—"

"Did ya think I was asking?" His large, dirty mitts grabbed my crutches, and yanked them from my grasp. I yelped, and lost my footing, my knees collided with the cold earth. Obnoxious snickering erupted all around me, drowning out the music as I struggled to stand. My arm ached, tears stung my eyes. Everyone was laughing at me. Why did my life suck so bad? I wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

Time seemed to come to a slow, my sight blurred by tears. I reached out, my hand kissing the twilight sky, hoping that someone would help me, that there would be one kind soul among the tainted.

After what felt like an eternity, finally, a hand captured mine. The touch was warm, the callouses on the palm strangely familiar…

There was someone kneeling before me, his figure was mostly a blur, but I managed to discern his eyes. There was a sparkle in his soft, hazel brown gaze, spots of gold danced within his irises, twinkling beneath the moonlight like stars. Captivated by the glimmering hues, I blinked away my tears, and the blurriness slowly subsided.

Franklin's powerful body began to materialize, hovering over me, his mouth gaping open like a fish on a hook. Muscles tensed, he stared at me incredulously, his thick brows furrowed. The distance between us suddenly erased, my body melted into his form, his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close. There was a fluttering sensation in my chest, and in an instant, I was in tears again.

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming, his perfectly timed arrival was too good to be true. He was my lifeline, he was always there in the nick of time to save me. I clenched tightly to his shirt, refusing to let him go. I tried to speak, to tell him I love him, to tell him never leave me again, but my voice faltered into unintelligible whimpers. He croaked, tears brimming on his eyelids, his fingers stroked through my hair.

We held each other for a long while. When his full, quivering lips pressed against my cheek, the world melted away, and I lost all concept of time. He kissed me and kissed me, softly, with each brush of his lips more tears fall from my eyes, tears neither of us cared to wipe away.

Franklin cleared his throat before speaking. "Tell me I ain't seein' shit, that you're really here..."

"You're not seeing things," I muttered. "I'm here. It's me. Me and Uncle T have been looking everywhere for you since the moment I woke up."

"For real? You came all the way out here to find my ass?" He smiled. "Damn, I-I ain't too sure what to say—"

"You sappy motherfuckers done having y'all little moment?" Lamar appeared at our side. "Damn Frank, are you crying?"

"Nah, nigga," Franklin sniffed. "I'm good, I just got some shit in my eye, sand or somethin'."

"You ain't gotta bullshit me, man. I respect what you got goin' on with the white girl—emotional reunion and shit. But what 'bout the homies, dog? You don't never show me no love, you ain't never shed a tear over me, nigga. When I got pinched by the Ballas, all you did was throw me a couple of dollas for a box of chicken and some blunt wraps. You coulda at least gave a nigga a hug—"

"Man, first of all, I wasn't crying," Franklin said. "I told you there was some shit in my eye, motherfucker. Secondly, fools be tryna pinch yo' ass on the daily, dog. I ain't got enough tears to be crying over every time yo' stupid ass almost get clapped. I'll be crying for the rest of my damn life."

"That's hood shit, nigga. The streets ain't safe for no one, you feel me? I could die any moment now, and when I pass on to the great plains with the free buffalo and the horny squawk bitches, you gonna regret takin' our friendship for granted—"

A voice called out, "Lookie here what I found, fellas!" I tuned out Franklin and Lamar's conversation, my eyes darted to the fat thief who snatched my crutches. He stood by the curb, huddled together with his hillbilly buddies, his beefy arm held my stolen crutches high like a trophy for all to see.

"I found me some quality walking sticks for my momma," the fat thief said. "I reckon she'll be able to walk down to the Lord's house by the creek on Sundays, and be back home faster than green grass through a goose. No more pushing her 'round in that got dam' wheelchair! Praise the Lord, god is good! Can I get an amen?"

"Amen!" his friends cheered in unison, spit flying through their rotten buckteeth.

My body twitched as I glared a hole in the fat thief's back. "Frank!" I shouted, pointing to the thief. "That asshole stole my crutches!"

Franklin glanced at the fat thief, and then back at me. "What you mean, babe?"

"He stole my crutches," I repeated. "I need them!"

"Damn," Lamar gasped, staring at the fat thief. "The fuck has that dude been eatin'? Sorry, white girl, but I ain't fucking with him. That motherfucker is big as hell, he look like a sumo wrestler in the making."

Franklin nodded. "For real, we finna need tranquilizer darts or some shit to fuck with that big ass dude. How bad you need them crutches, girl?"

"I can't effing walk without them," I frowned.

"Damn, white girl," Lamar said. "You can't walk? That makes sense, 'cause I was wonderin' why you were all laid out on the ground like that. I thought you were playin' dead or some shit."

Franklin swept me into his strong arms. Nestled in his warm embrace, he kissed my forehead. "I'ma go get your shit back, a'ight?" He glanced at Lamar. "Ay, man. Hold my girl while I handle this."

"I got you, homie." With Lamar's approval, Franklin carefully passed me over.

Due to Lamar's unnatural height, I felt uncomfortably high above the ground while in his arms. "Don't drop me," I muttered.

Lamar smirked. A glint of mischief in his eyes, he abruptly let go of me, his arms lowered to his side.

"Lamar!" I cried, clinging to his tattooed neck to stop my fall.

"My bad," he grinned playfully, scooping me into his sinewy arms again.

Giggling, I punched his shoulder. "You are like, such a dick."

"What you call me? Don't make me drop you again—"

"Lamar, stop fuckin' playin'," Franklin said. "She just woke up from a coma, dummy. Drop her, and I'ma drop yo' lanky ass next."

"Chill, dog," Lamar said. "Me and white girl just having fun. We wouldn't have to lug her skinny ass around if she had them crutches. Ain't you supposed to be getting them back? Go handle yo' candle, bitch. In the meantime, I'll be right here, chillin' with your girl. Somebody's gonna have to take care of her after that fat dude kills yo' ass. He gonna flatten you like a pancake, nigga."

Franklin grumbled something under his breath, and strode away, his glare settled on the fat thief across the lawn. "Ay, motherfucker," he shouted over the music, capturing the attention of nearby partygoers. "That's my girl's crutches!"

The fat thief and his friends turned to confront Franklin. "My name ain't 'motherfucker'," the fat thief said. "Folks call me Bobby Joe 'round here—"

"Like I give a fuck," Franklin spat. He stalked close to the thief, and before long, they were eye to eye, fists clenched, sizing one another up. Tension split the air. The dancing stopped, and so did the drinking, as everyone's eyes shifted to witness the intense standoff unfold.

I swallowed hard. Franklin was strong, really strong, but the guy he was facing? He was _huge_ , large enough to sit a grown man and crush him. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"These walking sticks belong to my momma now," Bobby Joe said. "She's in desperate need of 'em. Didn't you hear? She lost both her feet in a terrible barn fire, the flames melted her ankles right off, bless her heart."

"His momma is in a wheelchair now," a short man beside him added.

Franklin shrugged his shoulders. "Damn, dog. That's rough. But if you don't hand over those motherfuckin' crutches right now, you gonna be rollin' around a wheelchair too, right along with your moms."

"Good Lord!" Bobby Joe exclaimed. "That sounds like a threat. You ain't got the guts, boy."

"My boyfriend has more guts than you do, asshole," I shouted.

Bobby Joe's eyes darted to me, his chunky face reddening. "Keep talking floozy, and I'll jerk ya bald—"

Franklin struck Bobby Joe's jaw with his fist. ** _Pow!_** Screams and gasps filled the air as people crowded around the two men to observe the fight. Bobby Joe stumbled back from the blow, but regained his composure quickly. Meaty fingers clenching the rubber ends of my metal crutches, he swung them at Franklin. My amazing boyfriend managed to dodge the lethal blur of silver, and leapt forward, throwing yet another jab. **_Crack!_** Franklin's knuckles battered Bobby Joe's nose. I cringed, the brutal snap of the bones in his face breaking hurt to hear.

"My nose!" Bobby Joe wailed. Blood pouring from his nostrils, he dropped my crutches and clutched his nose. "I'm bleedin' more than a hog at a butcher's shop! I'm gon' die!"

"You son of a gun!" one of Bobby Joe's pals broke off from the crowd, and lunged at Franklin, tackling him onto the ground. As they wrenched, rolled, and wrestled with one another for dominance, my eyes were glued to Franklin's sweaty, bulging muscles. His powerful body was a flawless work of art. He radiated an exquisite masculinity, and an aura of unrelenting strength. He was a man to be feared and respected.

 _God_ , he was so hot. Violent and fearless—no one carried themselves quite like him. It was such a turn on.

The hillbilly crowd cheered, egging on the fight and clapping their hands.

"Kick his ass, babe!" I cheered along with them. "Break every bone in his body!"

"That's right, you heard the white girl," Lamar added. "Paralyze that motherfucker! Kill his ass—"

"Don't kill him! Just break his bones!"

Finally, Franklin successfully pinned down his foe. He reared back, curling his hand into a tight fist, and punched forward with his whole body. **_Bam!_** Teeth and blood flying from his mouth, Bobby Joe's pal instantly went limp, body stiff and eyes closed.

The cheering grew louder, a jolt of energy rushed through me from Franklin's well-deserved victory. "You did it!" I pumped my fist into the air. "You're unstoppable!"

Franklin stood, flashing a pearly white smile at me. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, and scooped up my crutches from the ground.

"No!" Bobby Joe cried, his bloody mitts clawed at Franklin's feet desperately. "Please, don't take 'em! What's my momma gon' do without no walking sticks?"

The piercing shriek of a bullet pierced the air. **_Bang!_** Everyone froze, the cheering faded, the country music cut out, and a tense silence claimed the dry desert land. I shuddered, my head snapped toward the source of the shot.

There was a man on the porch with a rifle in his gloved hands. He stood tall, his face was laced in shadows, hidden by a wide brimmed hat. He looked like a real cowboy, his leather chaps and long coat rippled in the wind. "What in the blue blazes is goin' on out here?" he asked. "I told y'all I won't condone no scrappin' on my property."

Bobby Joe pointed at Franklin, "It's his fault! He hit me first, the no-good weasel."

The cowboy's gaze settled on Franklin. He stroked his stringy black beard, and tapped the heel of his cowhide boots against the floor. "I heard there were some troublemakers in town who made a real mess of Yellow Jack Inn. The sheriff said they were dark skinned, meaner than a wet house cat, and slicker than owl shit. You know anything about that, son?"

Franklin glanced at the rifle, and winced, his gaze quickly averted to his feet. "Nah, I don't know nothin' 'bout that, man."

The cowboy shook his head, and spit on the ground. "You're lyin' like a goddamn no-legged dog." He raised his gun on Franklin. "That saloon has been a staple of my heritage for over one hundred years! My great grandpappy risked life and limb—"

"Hey!" Uncle T emerged from the house with a case of beer in tow. "No one gives a rat's ass about your great grandpappy, alright? Now do me a favor and fuck off, you're ruining the party."

"Trevor fucking Philips," the cowboy muttered, lowering his gun. "To what do I owe this honor? I don't remember inviting no psychopaths to our shindig. Why don't ya get gone while the gettin' is still good? I'd hate to have to shoot ya—"

In a sudden fit on rage, Uncle T grabbed a beer from the case, and smashed the cowboy over the head with it. **_Crack!_** His hat fell off, the bottle bursts into pieces, glass flying and beer spewing everywhere. Ouch.

"Argh!" the cowboy crumbled to his knees, clenching his bloody skull.

Trevor smirked, and laid a hand on the cowboy's trembling shoulder. "Threaten me again, and I will sneak into your house at night, stab you through the heart, and skin you alive. Then I'll gouge out your eyes, and fuck your skull while using your skin as a fucking condom."

"Fuck his skull now!" a partygoer shouted from the crowd.

"Yeah," another voice added. "I hate that wannabe cowboy bastard."

"Really?" the cowboy huffed. "Traitorous sons of bitches—"

"Shut up!" Uncle T kicked him, the impact of his steel-toed boot colliding with the cowboy's face knocked him out cold instantly. Hoots and hollers of approval resonated from the crowd. "What kind of party is this, eh?" Uncle T yelled. "Turn up the music, let's get crunk bitches!"

The country tunes resumed, and with the cowboy still knocked out on the porch, the party kicked off again. All huddled together, the hillbilly partygoers continued to drink, dance, and sing the night away. I sighed, relieved that the violence and general craziness was over and done with. Franklin pushed his way through the gyrating mob, and returned to Lamar and I. There was blood on his knuckles, and his clothes were dusted with sand, but he seemed to be okay otherwise.

"Here you go," Franklin handed me my crutches.

There was a tingling warmth in my chest. I beamed at him, "Thank you."

"That scrap was intense, my nigga," Lamar said. "You good?"

Franklin nodded, "I'm cool, dog. I got lucky, shit coulda gone much worse."

Uncle T hurried over to us. "Franklin! Lamar! Me and Tracey have been looking everywhere for you fuckers. How's it going, boys? Enjoying the party?"

"Yo, what up, Crazy Dude?" Lamar gave Uncle T a fist bump. "We gotta come out here more often. This party lit as a motherfucker, I ain't even gonna lie."

"Oh yeah, I'm havin' a real good time," Franklin grumbled. "Just got into a fight with some hick dudes, and almost got capped by a motherfuckin' cowboy. Shit can't get no better than this."

"Cut it with the sarcasm, kid," Uncle T said. "It's an overused form of humor that's tacky, and rarely ever funny. It makes you look douchey and lame, like Michael, for example. And speaking of being douchey and lame, why haven't you been returning my calls, Frank? We aren't friends anymore? Is that what this is?"

Before Franklin could utter a response, sirens rent the arid air, the distant wailing drowned out the music. Flashing lights appeared from down the road, penetrating the night's shadows. My eyes widened. The strong flickers of red and blue that used to be a calming indication that help was on the way, had now sent me spiraling into a panic.

Franklin and Lamar were wanted men! Uncle T assaulted a cowboy!

"We have to get out of here!" I blurted.

"Shit," Franklin scoffed. "Motherfuckin' Five-O 'bout to be all over our asses."

"Come with me," Uncle T demanded, bolting for his pickup truck.

"Homie," Lamar shoved me into Franklin's arms. "Here's your baggage, bitch. Handle that shit." He took off after Uncle T.

Franklin followed them, staggering along with my weight. Uncle T rushed to the wheel, Lamar claimed the passenger seat beside him. With all the seats in the car taken, Franklin and I were forced to ride the back. Gently, he set me down on the cold cargo bed, and hopped in, huddling beside me.

Uncle T slipped the keys into the ignition. The engine cranked and stirred, but it wouldn't start.

"Why this motherfucker ain't moving, homie?" Lamar asked.

"The fucking engine is stalling," Uncle T retorted. "It happens sometimes, this truck's a fossil."

"Damn, we fucked. We gonna get booked!"

"I don't wanna go to jail," I whimpered.

"Stop whining, it's fucking distracting," Uncle T muttered. "Just give me a damn second."

Franklin scooted close to me, his strong arms encircled around my waist. "Things are 'bout to get real bumpy, girl. Keep your head down, and try not to get shot, a'ight?"

"W-what?" I gasped, a weight pressed on my chest, robbing me of breath. "Are the police going to murder us? Is this the part when we die?"

"Nah, T's got this—"

"Frank, if the cops kill me, there's something I have to tell you. It's important."

He glanced at me. "What?"

"I froze my eggs, so if I die, you can thaw them, and we can still have a baby, sort of. It's a simple process, all you need is your sperm and a chick to be the surrogate. That way, you'll always have a part of me."

Fumbling for words, Franklin stared at me, wide-eyed, his brows furrowed. Did I just freak him out? Nah, he must had been so flattered, he was speechless.

The sirens were getting close now, white cop cars made a sharp turn onto the avenue. Our car engine had finally stirred to life. Uncle T stomped on the gas, and we shot forward, smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe, and tires screeching against the pavement.

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 **And that's a wrap! Another chapter down! The story has finally reached 100k words (excluding the little notes I post here). You know, I started this as a one-shot because I was dying for a good Franklin/Tracey fic to read. I couldn't find one, so I decided to write one of my own. The feedback I received from you guys was great, so I decided to turn it into a multi-chapter fic. And wow, I honestly had no idea this story would end up being this long! We've come a long way together guys! :D**

 **I don't always update on a consistent basis, I've been working on changing that but sometimes real life gets in the way. If you want email notifications on whenever I post a new chapter, follow/fav! Thank you so much for reading. Leave a review, let me know what you think! Honest feedback is always welcome, I love you guys for the support :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey y'all! I'm back with another update, lets get straight to reading :)**

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The police were in hot pursuit, their sirens blared, and tires screeched against the pavement. They were gaining on us!

Our pickup truck skid over the uneven dirt roads, my stomach rolled with every bounce and jerk. There was a knot of cars straight ahead, clogging the street.

"Hang on tight," Uncle T said, squashing the gas pedal.

Knuckles whitening, I held onto Franklin as we picked up speed. Our horn was a bellow of rage as we charged through the strangle of traffic and glided across the intersection. Cars from left and right broke into a hard stop. One cop car crashed into the back of another. A truck spun out into the middle of the road. But we made it across unharmed.

Thanks to the gridlock the truck caused, we managed to leave our pursuers in the dust.

"Woo!" Uncle T exclaimed, letting out a throaty laugh. "Now this is what I call a good time!"

We swerved into an alleyway tucked between two buildings, and Uncle T cut the engine. The car lights went out, and darkness swallowed us. Concealed by the safety of the night's shadows, cop cars unknowingly rushed past us. I sighed. We were safe. The tension in my muscles loosened, and my quaking breathing grew steady.

High above the rooftops looming overhead, the waning moon hung like a great lustrous jewel over the small town. Franklin held me close, my head propped on his shoulder, his strong arms wrapped around my waist. Silently, we sat under a blanket of glittering stars, and marveled at the beautifully ominous sight.

It was impossible to find a view like this in the city.

My fixation with the heavens above was short-lived, the heat of Franklin's gaze distracted me. He assessed my wounds from head to toe with a piercing stare.

"You good?" Franklin asked, his eyes riveted on my arm cast.

A hot flush stained my cheeks, his probing stare made my heart race. "I've been better," I muttered.

"I bet," he formed a sad smile, his gaze shifted to my crutches. "How's your legs, girl? Can you move them?"

I glanced at my legs, and focused real hard on getting them to move. I could lift them, but it took a crapload of effort. My limbs were so stiff. "This sucks," I frowned. "I'm never gonna walk the same again."

"Nah, you will. But it won't happen overnight. Your body needs time to rehabilitate." Franklin sighed heavily. "You shouldn't have come out here lookin' for me. Do your moms and pops know you here?"

"Michael doesn't know a thing," Uncle T said, climbing out of the car. "And neither does the ugly troll he's married to."

I rolled my eyes. "What do my parents have to do with this?" I snapped. "News flash, I'm a friggin' adult. Can you guys please start treating me like one?"

"We wouldn't treat you like a fuckin' kid if you didn't act like one," Franklin spat, his jaw clenched. "I've been takin' care of you since the day we met. Yo' crazy ass fans, Madrazo, the hillbillies—motherfuckers are always comin' after yo' little ass. It's exhaustin'."

Whenever he used that condescending tone, my blood boiled. "Screw you. You know what? You are so right, I shouldn't have come here. I hate you! I can't believe I wanted to have babies with a dumb, stupid asshole like you." I snatched my crutches and scooted away from him.

Instead of lashing out with a heated rebuttal as usual, he closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath, the tightness in his expression faded away. To my surprise, he successfully tamed his anger, burying it deep inside. When he opened his eyes, there was disarming softness in his gaze, so sweet and gentle, I could stare into them forever.

Franklin had an irresistible pull about him. My stomach dropped, the narrow distance between us felt like miles. It's only been a few seconds since I drifted from him, and I was already dying to be in his arms again.

"C'mere." As if he read my mind, his arm locked around me, and he drew me back in, my back pressed against his broad chest. "Stop playin', you know you want my babies, girl," he teased, playfully nibbling at my earlobe.

"Stop it," I giggled. "You're such an asshole."

"Yeah, fuck you, Frank," Lamar added, appearing beside Uncle T. "You gotta treat these bitches with respect, my nigga. I know that's hard for yo' big, angry ass, but white girl deserves better—"

"Ain't nobody ask you for your opinion, nigga," Franklin replied. "Mind yo' motherfuckin' business, man."

"I ain't never minded my business a day in my life," Lamar said. "And it ain't gonna start today, motherfucker."

"I have better things to do than listen to you fuckwits argue with each other," Uncle T said. "I got gas to huff, and a whole lot of crystal meth and speed with my name on it."

Uncle T turned away. Lamar gripped his shoulder. "Hold up, homie. We need your help, man."

"I think I've helped you shitheads enough for one day," Uncle T said.

"Respect," Lamar gave Uncle T a fist bump, "But I gotta find my girl, y'know what I'm sayin'? That's why me and Frank came out here in the first place."

"If it's Frank's auntie you're talking about, here's a bit of advice, my friend." Uncle T laid a hand on Lamar's shoulder. "She ain't worth it."

"But—"

"There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it!" Uncle T yelled. "For now on, you're gonna take that long dick you're always bragging about, and start inserting it in people who are worth the time, understand me? So, here's the plan. You're coming back home with me, and we're gonna get fucking stoned out of our minds. You'll forget all about Frank's auntie. All the pain and hurt she caused you will feel like a bad dream. And if you end up feeling a little lonely, we can find you a rebound. Hell, you and I can have some pillow talk, and cuddle if you want to. I'm down for some spooning if you are—"

"Yo, Crazy Dude, calm that shit down," Lamar muttered. "You talkin' real fruity, homie. I'm startin' to think you tryna get in a motherfucker's pants, or somethin'."

"I will if I have to," Uncle T said. "I'll do anything to make my friends happy, because that's what true friendship is. It's about compromise, and sacrifice. If I have to turn my dick into an instrument of your pleasure just to make you smile, I'll fucking do it. Reluctantly, of course."

"Oh, uh, damn…" Lamar smiled, fumbling for words. "That's cool I guess, ain't too many dudes willing to dick down other dudes just to make them happy, you feel me?"

"I won't do it for just anyone, only the homies."

"That's real love right there, you gotta go above and beyond for the homies." Lamar pulled Uncle T into a hug, and glanced at Franklin. "You see this, Frank? Take notes, bitch ass nigga. This is how you supposed to treat your homies, with love and affection—"

"And the occasional dick down," Uncle T finished Lamar's sentence.

Franklin shook his head. "Man, the moment you and your homie start slappin' dicks, y'all ain't homies no more. Y'all just evolved into something else entirely."

"Homies with benefits," I said.

"Exactly," Franklin agreed.

"If there's anyone here who really is 'homies with benefits', it's Franklin and Lamar," Uncle T said. "Admit it, you two are inseparable."

"My boyfriend isn't gay," I gazed at Franklin, my voice lowered to a whisper. "Right?"

Franklin narrowed his eyes at me. "You really askin' me that?"

"Alright, enough chit-chat," Uncle T declared. "Lamar, get in the car, kid. Tracey, Frank—fuck off and go have your happily ever after."

"Where are we supposed to go?" I asked.

"We ain't goin' with T," Franklin said. "Your pops told me all kinds of crazy shit about the way he lives, I ain't steppin' one foot in his crib."

"Good, because you weren't invited in the first place," Uncle T said. "You lovebirds need privacy, I'm sick and tired of seeing you two eye-fucking each other all the time. There's a hotel across town—"

"A hotel?" I asked. "Here? In this piece of crap town? No way."

Uncle T nodded. "Yep, perfect for snobby fucks with a false sense of entitlement. You'll fit in there just fine, Tracey."

"Man, there ain't no hotels around here, dog," Franklin said. "Unless you talkin' 'bout Blaine County. Ain't that shit abandoned?"

"Not anymore. Some rich idiot bought the property and renovated it. The place is fully operational and open for business, go see it for yourself. There might be some drug addicts and bums still hanging around, but you'll be fine. They're harmless."

"Can you drop us off there, Uncle T?" I asked.

Uncle T nodded. "After the shit that just went down with the cops, there's bound to be checkpoints and police patrols all over town. Too risky for you kids to be out and about on your own, so yeah, I'll take ya there. Let's go."

* * *

Although it was rumored that the building was recently renovated, the hotel's air was stale, and it reeked of mold and mildew. The lobby's old, threadbare rug was a decade out of date, the wallpaper was bubbling, and the ceiling tiles were discolored from a past leak. There was an elevator tucked in the corner. I wonder if it still works?

From behind the low reception desk, logs of polished timber, sat a man slumped over in a chair. With a straw hat tipped low to conceal his face, he seemed to be fast asleep, his feet kicked up, and arms dangling at his sides.

Franklin and I approached the receptionist, the tip-tap of my crutches against the floor jerked him from his slumber. He stared at us, wide-eyed, startled by our arrival.

"Ay," Franklin greeted as we stood before his desk.

The receptionist sprung from his seat, and glared at Franklin, "What do you want?"

"A room," Franklin replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is that right?" the receptionist narrowed his eyes at us. "Y'all got ID?" Franklin whipped out his wallet, and handed over his identification. The receptionist rose the card to his nose, and squinted, studying it carefully. "You're from LS?"

"Uh, yeah," Franklin grumbled.

He shot Franklin a swift, sidelong glance. "A long way from home, ain't ya? What brings you to Sandy Shores?"

"The fuck does it matter to you?"

"You got a problem with questions, son?" the receptionist asked with a sneer.

Franklin glared daggers at the receptionist, tension split the stale air. I swallowed deeply. Before things got out of hand, I intervened, stepping in front of Franklin.

"Hi," I greeted, smiling wide at the receptionist. "We don't want any trouble, okay? We're in town visiting a friend, and we've had like, the longest day ever and we just want some sleep. So, if you have any rooms available, we'd be super-duper grateful."

"We got a non-smoking room available," the receptionist said. "Three hundred a night—"

" _What_?" Franklin scoffed. "Three hundred? Fuck outta here, man. That's bullshit."

The receptionist shrugged. "Take it, or leave it, shitbird. What's it gonna be?"

"Go fuck yourself," Franklin snapped.

"Babe," I gazed at Franklin with pleading eyes. "This is the only hotel in town, where else are we going to go? I'm tired of walking, everything hurts, and I'm really hungry."

"We have room service," the receptionist said. "We serve cutlery and trays, alcoholic drinks too if that's your fancy."

Franklin sighed. "A'ight, fuck it. Here." Grumbling incoherently, he reluctantly forked over the cash.

The receptionist took his sweet time counting the money, and then smirked, sliding us a blue key card. "Your room is on the second floor, last door on your left."

We took the elevator instead of the stairs. Huddled close to Franklin, I clutched the sticky metal handrail as the lift made its shuddering, jerky ascent to the next floor. Finally, the elevator staggered to a stop, and we made our exit into the hall. It was broad and straight, each door was a glossy brown, and numbered with silver digits that match the lever shaped handles. Once we reached our room, the last door on the left, Franklin swiped the key card, disengaging the lock.

The room contained a large bed, neatly made, a widescreen TV, and a leather recliner chair. The space lacked personality, no pictures on the cream-colored walls, or curtains adorning the windows. It felt like an oven in here, the air so musty and warm, I thought I was going to faint. Panting, I wobbled to the mattress, and tumbled onto the cloth sheets.

Franklin sucked his teeth. "Three hundred for this hot ass motherfucker…" He gravitated to the ductless air-conditioner mounted on the wall, and jabbed a button. It turned on, a meager breeze ebbed through the vents, I could barely feel it.

I quivered violently, a bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. "Frank," I mumbled breathlessly, my stomach lurching. "I don't feel so good…"

He plopped down on the edge of the bed, and gazed at me, his expression taut. "You a'ight?"

I shook my head weakly.

Franklin ran his fingers through my sweat-darkened hair. "It'll get cool up in here soon. I'ma call room service, get you some cold water and somethin' to eat, a'ight?"

I nodded, and let out a long, drawn-out yawn. I closed my weary eyes, and Franklin continued to caress my scalp as he contacted the hotel staff over the telephone. His soothing touch calmed my aching muscles, the comfort and safety of his mighty presence warded away my fears, and I soon drifted off to sleep despite the agonizing heat.

I awoke hours later to an amazingly cold room, wrapped in Franklin's arms, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He slept like a log, stiff, soundly, and at peace. I smiled, reveling in the pleasing scent of his skin. I listened to his heartbeat, and the deep breaths that escaped his lips. Together, it was music to my ears, a calm, mellow melody I could wake up to every morning, and indulge in every night for the rest of my life if I had the chance.

There was a tray of fresh strawberries at my bedside table. They were covered in a mountain of sweet, fluffy whipped cream. Careful not to wake Franklin, I slipped from his grasp, and grabbed the fruit tray. I took a bite. The berries had an irresistibly sweet tang, and I devoured the entire plate. The thought of saving some for Franklin crossed my mind, but I was starving. I felt a hundred times better now that I had some food in my stomach.

As I rolled over to return to my rightful place in Franklin's embrace, a foul aroma invaded my senses. What was that? I sniffed around for the culprit. It wasn't my boyfriend, he usually smelled the same, fresh like his signature aftershave, woodsy cologne, combined with traces of cigarette smoke.

Was it me? I took a whiff of my hair, and between my boobs. Kinda sour from all the sweating, but not terrible. I sniffed my arm pits next, and grimaced. _Yuck_ , I totally needed a shower.

I spent ten minutes in the shower, and over an hour staring at my reflection. I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. She was scarred all over, her skin more purple than pale, her face gaunt and swollen.

She was ugly. I was ugly.

What happened to me? I used to be beautiful. Everyone wanted to be me, I was a celebrity, damn it. And now, I'm a disgusting, shallow shell of what I once was. My chin trembled, and despite my efforts to hold it in, the pain sprung forward in the form of noisy sobs, tears made wet tracks down my cheeks. Who could ever love an ugly face like mine? My heart sank, my legs crumbling with it. I hit the cold porcelain floor, my entire, pathetic life crumbling at my fingertips.

There was a knock at the door. "Trace?" Franklin's voice seeped beneath the doorway. "You a'ight?"

"Go away," I croaked between my sobs. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Why? Bet you look fine as hell right now, you always do."

"I saw myself in the mirror, Frank. Y-you've been lying to me this entire time. I look hideous, worse than a monkey's asshole."

"Baby, you bein' dramatic—"

"No!" I blurted tearfully. "I'm being truthful. I literally look like a monkey's butt."

"I mean, if I had to compare you to a monkey's ass, you'd probably look like one of them monkeys at the zoo. The zookeepers be cleanin' them motherfuckers from time to time. I heard wild monkey ass was nasty as shit."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh my god, will you please take me serious? I'm effing disgusting, my life is over."

Franklin opened the door, and crouched onto the floor beside me, his knees brushed mine. His closeness distracted me from the pain, my loud sobs grew quiet. He cupped my wobbly chin. With my face angled toward him, he gazed at me with gentle, yet scrutinizing attention. "You see these?" he stroked my scarred arm lightly. "We all get hurt sometimes. Scars and bruises are natural, girl. Natural is beautiful."

I sniffed. "There's nothing natural or beautiful about this."

"Sure there is. Scars are like the story of your life carved into your skin. You carry it with you everywhere, as a reminder of the bad shit you've been through, and survived. You finna earn a lot more cuts and scrapes in your life, I will too, and it ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. Wounds heal, you feel me? It just takes patience."

"I guess," I clasped his hand, and toyed with his blunt fingers absentmindedly. His knuckles, reddened and calloused by fighting, were still well kept and refined.

"You've been through a lot, babe," Franklin continued. "And you're still standing. Your scars are a symbol of strength. One look at you, and I can see all the battles you won, all the wars you conquered…" He leaned in, wiping away the tears on my cheeks with tender kisses. "And there ain't nothin' more beautiful than a strong woman."

I smiled sheepishly, my heart skipped an enormous number of beats. "You mean it?"

"Fo' sho'." Franklin glanced at me, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. My brows rose in suspicion, the mischievous look gracing his features couldn't be good. Suddenly, and by a seemingly random impulse, he captured me in his arms, tickling my stomach and sides. Reluctantly, I burst into a loud cackle of laughter. I tried to push him away, but his tickles were relentless, I couldn't escape for the life of me. We wrestled with one another, tumbling about the small bathroom. He was gentle enough to avoid contact with my broken arm, but applied enough pressure to my ticklish spots to keep me reeling with laughter.

"S-stop!" I snickered, finally maneuvering myself on top of him. He could have easily overpowered me, but instead, he allowed me to pin him down. "Hah! I win."

"You got me," he smiled sweetly. "What you finna do with me, girl?"

"I'm going to beat you."

"What you mean, babe? Like, you gon' beat me off or some shit?"

"No, I'm literally going to beat you. Like with my fists, or maybe a stick if I can find one."

Franklin furrowed his brows. "A'ight, that's… weird. Kinda kinky though."

"Then I'm going to sit on your face, and after that, you're going to cuddle me. When I'm tired of cuddling, I'm going to beat you all over again."

He scoffed. "This is a real one-sided ass relationship."

I nodded, fighting back my urge to laugh. "Get used to it, my happiness is the only thing that matters. You're here to serve me, got it?"

"Girl, I can't tell if you're bein' serious or not, and it's fuckin' scary."

My expression cracked, a wide grin spread across my face. "I'm joking, duh. But not about everything. I really am going to sit on your face."

"What if I don't want you to sit yo' narrow ass on my face?"

"Too bad." I traced my finger across his sculpted jawline, and planted a kiss on his lips. "You're gonna do it anyway."

"Can't make me do shit," Franklin teased, setting me aside. He stood, scooping me up along with him, my arm hooked around his neck. He whisked me to the bed, and I fell with a soft bounce on the mattress. His tall, powerfully lean body towered over me, and my heart fluttered. I gaped at him, perplexed by his savagely gorgeous muscles and ruggedly handsome face. A wave of nervousness swept over me. I couldn't help but think about fucking him. Amazingly rough, toe-curling sex came to mind, and I was tempted to rip his clothes off.

He was beautiful, tantalizingly so, I might just have an orgasm by staring at him long enough.

His gaze dropped to my jean shorts. They were already unbuttoned. He licked his lips, and I was sure the thought of tasting me had crossed his mind. But he fought the temptation, fastening the buttons of my pants, and laid beside me.

"I gotta ask you somethin'," he said, turning to face me, his expression serious. "If it's cool with you?"

"No," I whined, my mouth set in a pout. I was hot and flustered, and his intense, probing stare was _not_ helping.

"Aw, don't be like that." He pressed his lips to my temple, and murmured, "Talk to me."

The soft, pleading eagerness in his voice made my heart flip with concern. I faced him, offering my undivided attention, my fingers caressed his strong, bearded cheeks. "I'm listening. Is everything okay?"

"I'm straight. I was just wonderin', uh…" He swallowed, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt as if it were too tight, "I was wonderin' how much you remembered from the night of the car accident."

"Everything," I muttered, sensing his anxiousness over the subject. "Why?"

"Your moms and pops believe it was my fault."

"Well, they're wrong. You weren't driving, the crash was completely out of your control."

"Yeah, maybe, but…" Franklin's voice faded into silence. His expression was thoughtful, yet distant.

I frowned. "Hao did his best to help us. I'd do anything to bring him back, but life isn't freaking fair, and it sucks."

"He was a cool dude."

"And a great driver," I added.

He drew his thick brows into a pucker, a heavy sigh crept through his lips. "I thought you were gon' die too."

"But I didn't. I'm still here."

"That ain't the point. Remember why you were in that situation in the first place?"

"Because I offered myself up to Madrazo in exchange for your aunt," I said matter-of-factly.

"Why'd you do that?"

I shrugged, "Because she needed our help."

"So? You didn't even fuckin' know her."

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it matters. Spoiled, rich girl like you, sacrificing herself for a stranger just for the fuck of it…" He shook his head, "Shit doesn't add up. So, tell me the truth. What's the real reason you were willin' to throw your life away?"

I flushed, my cheeks burned with shame. He stared at me, piercing and unblinking, he could see straight through me. There wasn't any point in trying to hide the truth anymore. "I-I did it for you."

"I know," he mumbled. "Just had to hear you say it."

"Oh…" An awkward silence filled the air. A cool breeze swept over me, chilling me to the bone. I hazard a glance at Franklin. His lips were pressed together in a slight grimace, his stare flat. He was impossible to read. I wasn't sure what to say or do, so I lingered there, silent, shy and irresolute.

I thought rescuing Denise was something to be proud of. For the first time in my life, I wasn't thinking about myself. I helped save a life. I was heroic. I did something selfless, and honorable. Looking back on it now though, considering the lackluster look in Franklin's eyes, I was beginning to question whether I did the right thing at all. I saved her, sure, but was it for the right reasons?

"Say something," I begged, unable to bear the tense stillness in the air. "I feel like you're judging me."

"Nah." He cleared his throat. "Being with you, it's hard for me. Before I came around, your life was good. You were with your family, safe and surrounded by people you love. Everythin' was cool, no drama, and then you met me. Look where you are now. Everythin' is fucked, you're fresh outta a coma, you can barely walk, your arm's broken, the cops are lookin' everywhere for us—"

"So?" I asked, my fists clenched. "What are you trying to say?"

"I ain't no damn good for you, girl. And we both know it."

I glared at him, an infusion of adrenaline rocked my body. "We've had this same conversation multiple times, Frank. It's so freaking annoying, your stupid insecurities are going to tear us apart."

"Good. We ain't gon' work out anyway, you just too fuckin' delusional to see it—"

"Shut up!" I snapped. My hand cracked across his chiseled face, the force of the blow left an inflamed mark on his cheek. I gasped. I didn't mean to hit him that hard! He glowered at me, teeth bared, a muscle ticked in his jaw. My body tensed, and I flinched at his harsh, aggravated expression.

A hot flush staining my cheeks, I muttered, "Oh my god, I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"Bitch, please," Franklin pulled away from me, scrambling into a stance. "There ain't no damn where to start over from! We were doomed from the motherfuckin' beginnin', a'ight? I'm tryna do the right thing here. I don't wanna hurt you and yo' crazy ass family more than I already have."

My limbs vibrated, and my pulse spiked. Did he hate me? Was he going to leave me?

I leapt from the bed and stumbled to him, hugging his muscled body from behind, my arm locked around his waist. "I'm sorry, okay? Please, don't be mad at me. I won't slap you again if you promise not to be mad at me."

His muscles quaked, but he didn't respond.

"Do you hate me now?" I asked. "Are you going to leave me?"

"Neither of us want that shit, but…" Franklin sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Why are you the way you are, girl? Why you gotta be so damn dramatic all the time? Why do you have to make shit so hard for me? Why don't you just… let me _go_?"

I took a step back from him, clutching the wall, tears burned my eyes. "The night of the car crash, you told me you loved me," I said. "Did you mean it? Did you ever care about me at all?"

He gazed at me, fumbling for words, his lips pressed together in a slight grimace. "I-I care 'bout you, Trace. A lot, it's just, you know…"

There was a painful tightness in my throat, constricting my lungs. It was hard to breathe. He seemed so conflicted, so unsure about our entire relationship, despite everything we've been through. How could he? What was stopping him from being with me? Why wouldn't he just love me? Why did he have to be such a fat, stupid, complicated jackass?

"Franklin…" I choked out, my voice a quiet whimper. "Do you love me or not? Which is it? Tell me the truth."

Before Franklin could utter an answer, there was a knock at the door. It was quiet at first, but quickly grew louder, forceful and urgent.

"This is the Los Santos Sheriff Department!" a voice called out from the other side. "Open up! _Now_!"

I yelped, my stomach turned to ice. It was the police! How did they find us?

"Fuck," Franklin shivered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Shit, how the fuck…"

Crap, we had to do something! I had a clean criminal record, the cops would let me off easy. Franklin, on the other hand…

I couldn't let my boyfriend go to prison, even if he was a jerk sometimes. I'd be a wrinkly old lady living in a nursing home by the time he got out. My eyes darted to the bathroom. "I have an idea!" I dragged him into the restroom. "You stay here, I'll get rid of them."

"What?" Franklin gawked at me. "Are you sure?"

"We can't start a life together if you're in jail. No hugs, no kisses, no biracial babies, no more you spoiling me and buying me whatever I want—I have to do this."

"You've been using my ass, huh?" he smiled.

"Not entirely," I teased.

Franklin took my hand and drew close, his lips pressed against mine. I clung to him, my breath hitched in my throat. It was a gentle kiss, sweet and attentive, his thumb stroked my cheek softly. A pleading whimper escaped me as our mouths parted, I wanted so much more, but we didn't have time. He nuzzled the side of my face, his lips brushed over my ear. " _I love you_ ," he whispered, his warm breath on my neck. "I love you so much, girl."

I beamed, giddy from his heartfelt confession. "You're just saying that because the cops are here, aren't you? You're lucky I love you too, because if I didn't, I'd totally give you up right now."

He smirked. "Don't play like that—"

"Open up!" the voice called out again. "We know you're in there, this is your last warning!"

I sighed, and offered Franklin a sad smile. "I should probably get that."

"You got this, babe," Franklin closed himself in. I turned toward the front door, and sighed, muttering a silent prayer. Please god, give me the strength to deal with these dumb cops. Don't let us go to jail.

* * *

 **And that's it! Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter, leave a review, lemme know what you think! By the way, I bought Detroit Become Human a week ago and I've literally been playing it non-stop ever since (which is why the update for this chapter is kinda late lol :P). The game is so good, the story is so compelling and the characters are very well flushed out, you should definitely consider playing it if you haven't yet! I'm thinking about writing a fic for it soon, so be on the lookout for that. Anyway, thank you for reading. I love y'all :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey y'all! I'm back with an update! :D Hope the wait wasn't too long, let's get to reading.**

* * *

I strode to the door, and let the police in. There were two of them, one female and the other male, hard-nosed and strict, both were the embodiment of authority, handguns hung idly at their hips. I was a raw bundle of nerves as they stared down at me, the image of my flustered face reflected off their oval-shaped sunglasses.

The Blaine County officers had a more casual getup compared to the Los Santos police. They wore brown cowboy hats and leather boots to match, their uniforms consisted of just green pants and an average beige shirt, the polished silver badges pinned to their chests hung proudly on display.

"H-how can I help you?" I asked.

"We got a call about a suspicious male in the area," the female cop said. She was rather petite for her line of work; her uniform was loose and drooping. "Have you seen anyone strange lately?"

"Um, no," I muttered, chewing at my lip.

"I'm deputy Reynolds, it's nice to meet ya," the male cop smiled. "Now, are you sure you haven't seen anything out of the ordinary during your stay here, ma'am? You can trust me and my partner, I assure you, we're here to help.'

I feigned a smile, my body broke out in cold sweats. "I-I h-haven't heard anything."

"Is there someone in there with you?"

"N-no—"

The hotel receptionist popped up from behind the cops, he pointed a bony finger at me. "Look at her! She's lying through her teeth! She's more nervous than a whore in a confession booth!"

I met the receptionist's beady glare with my own. He called the cops on us! I shoulda known the creep wasn't to be trusted.

"Search the room," the receptionist demanded.

"Wait!" I blurted. "You can't—"

"Excuse us, ma'am," the deputy brushed past me. I caught myself just before I tripped, clutching the wall.

The officers began to search the room. They examined the closet first, sifting through it with a flashlight, and gravitated to the bed next, shining a light beneath it.

"Find anything?" the receptionist called out from the hall. "Is he in there?"

The cops shined their lights on the bathroom door, and glanced at one another. "Cover me," the female officer instructed, clenching the gun on her hip. Her partner responded with a nod, and armed himself as well.

My stomach twisted into knots, my pulse pounded in my temples. Bile rose in my throat, I thought I was going to vomit all over the place, my knees shook uncontrollably.

This was it! It was all over! My boyfriend is going to go to jail!

The door was yanked open, and the officers stood with their guns at the ready. But no one was there. Franklin was gone. Where was he? The shower curtains were closed. Was he hiding behind them?

I cleared my throat loudly. "Are you done wasting my time? I told you no one was here."

The officers holstered their weapons. "Sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am."

I let out a deep sigh as the officers turned for the exit.

"Wait," the receptionist shouted. "Y'all can't just leave! That bastard has been nothin' but trouble for our town, he's a goddamn menace, I tell ya. He's in there somewhere…"

The receptionist's jabbering went on and on, but the deputy tuned him out, and glanced at me. "We're really sorry for the intrusion, miss—"

A loud chime echoed from the bathroom, followed by a shuffling noise, and then silence. The chime sounded familiar, just like Franklin's ringtone. My stomach dropped. Crap…

* * *

The hard, plastic seats of the police cruiser had little leg room, my trembling knees continually bumped against the reinforced seat divider. Thanks to my broken arm, they spared me of handcuffs. Franklin however, was forced to lean sideways to keep from sitting on his hands, cuffs crimped the skin of his wrists, metal bars separated us from the officers in the front seats. Whenever the officer would make a turn, Franklin would slam into the heavy window grate roughly. Ruthless assholes.

"Are you okay?" I mumbled, my stomach churning with dread.

He nodded stiffly, his stare blank and icily calm despite the circumstances. This wasn't his first time getting arrested after all, he's been behind bars before.

But I was still scared for him. I was scared for the both of us. What were we going to do? I was tempted to speak to the officers, maybe I could convince them that this was all just one big misunderstanding. But I could already hear Dad in my ear, telling me to keep my big mouth shut until a lawyer arrived. I've seen him dragged off enough to know how this nightmare went, although being the one arrested was much different than watching someone else get taken in.

Maybe it was best to keep quiet. But when Franklin had rammed into the window grate for the fifth time because of the officer's hasty turns, I had to speak up.

"You're driving like a maniac," I muttered. "Could you slow it down, please?"

The deputy glared at me through the rearview mirror, "This is my cruiser, I'll drive however I want to drive." He switched on his siren, and zoomed past a stoplight. "Now sit back, and shut the fuck up."

"Dick," I grumbled under my breath, gazing out the window. We made a sharp turn onto the main road, and the Sandy Shores Sheriff's Station emerged into view. Instead of stopping, the officer stomped on the gas, and we flew down the street, passing the station right on by. "Hey!" I yelled. "Where are you going? You passed the station!"

The officers didn't reply. I cringed. Where were they taking us? My body quaked, and I faced Franklin with wide-open eyes. "I-is this normal? Does t-this usually happen?"

"Tracey, just calm down," Franklin mumbled, his gaze averted to the officers. "Ay, what precinct y'all work for again?"

"What's your badge numbers?" I asked.

The cops grinned maliciously, ignoring our questions. A shiver of goose flesh rushes up my arms, an eerie sensation flooded my senses, my intuition kicking in. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I sat up, and banged my fists against the barred barrier between the cops and I. "Hello?" I called out to them. "Are you deaf? You are legally obligated to answer our questions! What kind of cops are you? You didn't even read us our rights, turds."

The female officer whirled around, her blue eyes bulged with a nasty twinkle. "Keep fucking with us, and I'll pop a cap in your knee," she spat.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the seething hatred in her eyes, and the gun on her hip stopped me cold.

"Ay, bitch, don't talk to my girl like that," Franklin argued, straining at his bonds in a frantic, futile effort to free himself. "Where the fuck y'all takin' us?"

"There's no use in fighting it," the deputy said, his voice so deadpan, and cold, it sent shivers up my spine. "It'll all be over soon."

My heart sank. _They were going to kill us!_

As we drove further and further from the police station, panic washed over me, turning my insides to ice. I had to do something! I fumbled with the car door handle, my trembling fingers desperately pulling at it, but it wouldn't budge. The thought of breaking the windows passed my mind, but what the point? The iron bars securing the glass was too tight to squeeze through, even for me.

We were trapped. There was no way out. I glanced at Franklin, hoping that he had some miraculous idea up his sleeve, that he'd save me like he always did. But the grave expression on his face, and the unnatural stillness in his limbs told me otherwise.

"Frank?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "W-what… what are we going to do?"

Head bowed, Franklin hesitated before speaking, as if he were weighing his words carefully. "Ain't nothin' we can do, girl. We're fucked."

My sight blurred with tears. "So, that's it? You're giving up? Just like that—"

"Hey!" the deputy bellowed. "Shut your fucking mouths already." He sighed. "God, we don't get paid enough for this shit."

"Yeah," the female cop nodded, running a hand through her brown, bobbed hair. "Once we get rid of these two, I'll ask the boss to up our pay."

The car wobbled as it turned off the main road, leaving the town of Sandy Shores behind. Up ahead was desert wasteland, a vast sea of shadowy nothingness waiting to swallow us whole. There was no people around, no one to turn to for help, no one to witness the crime being committed against us.

We were all alone. No one could save us now.

The severity of the situation began to sink in, a surge of pain welled inside me. I clutched my chest, tears burst from eyes uncontrollably.

This can't be happening!

"Pl-please," I pleaded to our kidnappers through trembling lips. "Just turn around, y-you don't h-have to do this. We're not bad people—"

The female cop threw her head back and let out an ugly laugh. "Who do you think you're fooling, honey? We know _everything._ "

"Y'all got a lot of enemies," the deputy added. "There's some important folks out there who'll pay a pretty penny for your heads."

"Yeah? Like who?" Franklin asked.

The deputy smirked. "We ain't at liberty to say."

"Why not?" Franklin probed. "Y'all gonna kill us anyway, right? The least you could do is tell us who you workin' for."

"We have money!" I blurted tearfully. "Loads of money! W-we'll pay you if you let us go, way more than whatever you're getting offered now. You can trust me, my father is rich."

"Money won't help you here, darlin'," the deputy said.

"You won't get away with this," I warned. "When my daddy finds out about this, he's so gonna murder you both."

The officers responded with a cackle, and grew silent once again.

I winced, my head a tornado of frenzied despair spinning out of control, each terrifying thought pushing my mind to the brink of darkness. There was a tightness in my chest, as if my lungs were bound by rope, and someone was pulling on it, choking me, restricting my breathing. Heaving, desperately struggling for much needed oxygen, I bent over, and buried my face in my knees, blocking out the terrible world.

I had to calm down. I had to be strong. But I couldn't. I didn't want to die…

Why couldn't I be a normal girl, with normal, boring problems? With a normal, boring family, and a normal, boring boyfriend? Why was everyday a fight between life and death? Couldn't I have one day of peace and relaxation? Was that too much to ask for?

I wanted to cling to my boyfriend, to feel the warmth of his touch, to hear his calming, gentle whispers in my ear. But he was handcuffed, and we were separated by seat dividers. My heart lurched. I bet he preferred things to be this way. He had doubts about our relationship, his heart wasn't fully in it.

I can't force him to be with me. Maybe he was right, we were both wasting our time.

Numb to our surroundings, trembling, I awaited the inevitable. The grumble of thunder pulled me from my stupor every now and then, rain pattering onto the pavement filled the moments of silence.

The car lurched as it drew to a stop on the side of the empty road. A meaty hand clutched my arm, and wrangled me from my seat, into the freezing, pouring rain. I whimpered, my knees collided with wet earth. A gun leapt into view, the cold steel pressed against my head.

"Get up," the female cop sneered, holding me at gunpoint.

I stood, knees quaking, I rose my trembling arms high above my head. "Please, don't shoot…"

Franklin was yanked from the car next, the deputy shoved him onto the muddy ground. A muscle ticked in my boyfriend's jaw, his nose wrinkled, and muscles tightening. Franklin sprang up, and struck the officer with a headbutt. **_Bonk!_** The violent smash knocked him off his feet. In an instant, Franklin had vaulted over the car hood, and tackled the cop holding me at gunpoint. She screamed, crumbling beneath his weight, her gun flew from her grasp.

"Tracey, run!" Franklin shouted.

"I'm not leaving you!" My heart hammered against my chest at a dizzying pace. Everything was happening so fast, I felt faint, a lightheaded sensation washed over me.

"Get off!" the lady cop cried, her tiny frame squirmed beneath my boyfriend's massive body.

 _The gun!_ My eyes darted to the dangerous weapon lying in the mud. I staggered toward it, sweeping the firearm into my grasp. My hand tightening around the grip, I tried to aim the weapon at the cop fighting my boyfriend, but the gun was so heavy, and I couldn't stop trembling. What if I missed? What if I shot Franklin by mistake? What if—

"Drop it," a voice said.

The deputy stood a short distance away, nose bloodied and battered, he held a silver revolver on me.

My eyes widened, my chest heaved like it was going to combust. I dropped the gun.

The deputy let off a warning shot at Franklin's feet. My boyfriend froze, and the lady cop finally managed to push him off, scrambling into a stance.

"Fucker!" she barked, kicking the heel of her boot across Franklin's face. **_Bam!_** His head snapped back from the violent attack, and he let out a tight groan of agony.

"Frank!" I tried to run to him, but the deputy snatched me by the arm.

My boyfriend spat out a glob of blood, a mocking smirk tugged at his lips. "That's all y'all motherfuckers got?"

"You think this is funny, huh?" The deputy pressed his revolver against my head. "Go ahead, try something again, I dare you. I'll blow this little bitch into next week, and make you watch."

I cringed, the deputy's tone so bitter and sharp, my stomach dropped to my feet. "Please, don't," I begged, tears spilling down my flustered cheeks. "You _don't_ have to do this. Just, let us go, please."

Franklin glanced at me, the smirk on his face faded into a grimace. "Man, don't hurt her. She's innocent, a'ight? She ain't done nothin' wrong."

The lady cop rolled her eyes, and clutched Franklin's arm, heaving him to his feet. "We won't hurt her unless you give us a reason to," she grumbled, shoving him forward.

The deputy pointed ahead with his chin. "Move," he commanded, the barrel of his gun dug into my back.

Shrouded by the heavy rain, the officers steered us along the shadowy, deserted road. I stared into the blackness looming ahead, an icy chill swept over me, numbing my brain to the core. We were powerless, hopeless, and like cows, we were being led to slaughter.

Thunder rolled across the sky, cracking through the darkened clouds with a wrathful **_boom_**. I trembled, raindrops merging with my salty tears. The damp soil had morphed from bright, sandy hues, to deep brown, the pitted mud had not a single print besides ours. No tire tracks neither. It's been forever since anyone travelled this road. If they kill us, the chance of someone finding our bodies out here was slim to none…

"How much y'all getting paid to kill us?" Franklin asked.

The tight-lipped officers didn't answer. We walked and walked until we reached a dead-end sign. The stench of manure invaded my nostrils. I pinched my nose, the awful odor was unbearable. The cops guided us off the muddy trail, into a vast paddock of mixed grasses and clover. Tall and dried, the great field of brownish grass seemed to stretch for miles, a perfect place to hide a body. Wind and rain swept over the empty meadow, causing the shrubs to sway rapidly in the breeze.

"On your knees," the deputy ordered.

Franklin and I followed his instruction, hesitantly, our gazes locked on one another as we knelt in the grass. Time seemed to come to a halt.

They were going to execute us. This was it. It was over.

Despite his continued effort to remain strong, Franklin hunched over as if choking down a sob, tears brimmed on his eyelashes. My chest ached. It hurt to witness him like this, grief-stricken and vulnerable. In a final attempt to bury the pain, he blinked the tears away, and rose his chin high, the expression on his face a stony mask. He was determined to emit his typical aura of strength to the very end.

"Tracey," he said with a blank stare, his voice soft. "I'm sorry. For everything."

I whimpered, my heart sinking in my chest. I wasn't strong like him. I couldn't stare death in the eye and accept it. The dark, rainy world around me had blurred. Unable to suppress the raw misery bubbling inside me, a wild, panic-stricken scream pushed through my lips. My voice echoed through the night, fading into the rain and nothingness, only to be overpowered by the roaring thunder overhead.

Unfazed by my sorrow, the deputy let out a quick, disgusted snort. "Have at it, losers," he said, throwing a tiny pair of keys into the grass. Dazed, my eyes grew wide as the officers abruptly took off into the night, leaving us stranded. But why? Why didn't they kill us?

What the heck was going on?

"Tracey!" Franklin blurted, struggling to free himself from his restraints. "The keys! Get the keys, girl!"

Franklin's voice roused me from my daze. Without thinking twice, I combed through the wet grass in search for it. It was so dark, I could barely see anything. The grating noise of tires barreling through mud rattled my senses. I flinched, glancing at the road. A cop cruiser was approaching, the headlights were nearly blinding.

They're coming back! Mouth dry, and grinding my teeth, I blinked rapidly. _No!_

"C'mon, girl," Franklin said, his gaze fixed on the incoming car. "Hurry!"

I tried to remain calm, and focus on the task, ignoring the queasiness in my stomach. I laid a hand on something small, hard, and shiny. I snatched it from the grass, and lifted it to my nose, inspecting it closely. It was the keys!

"I found it!" I crawled over to my boyfriend, and began to fumble with his handcuffs. It was a pain trying to unlock them with only one hand. It didn't help that my fingers were quivering like crazy.

"It ain't rocket science, babe," Franklin muttered.

"Shut up," I said. "I'm trying to focus here."

Although it was a long struggle, I successfully unlocked his handcuffs, the metal restraints left behind a nasty imprint on his wrists. However, by the time I freed him, the cruiser swerved to a stop before us. My dad was in the front seat, his clean-cut face, and beige, tailored suit stood out like a sore thumb. Blowing out a breath, I gaped at him.

 _No effing way._

"Dad?" I stumbled, grabbing Franklin's arm to steady myself. "What are you doing here?"

He casually stepped out of the car, his eyes widened. "Tracey? Holy shit, you look like crap. Why are you on your knees?"

"I-I..." I fumbled, frozen in place, and speechless.

My heart skipped, the sound of my dad's cool, even-toned voice was like music to my ears. He forged through the high grass, dropped to his knees, and hugged me. I smiled, melting into his safe embrace. "Are you okay, sweetie? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm okay," I mumbled.

Yet another police cruiser pulled up on the side of the road. The car door flung open, and Uncle T was thrown out of it, sprawling flat on his ass. The driver stomped on the gas, the tires kicking up mud as they sped off down the road.

"Assholes!" Uncle T's booming shout pierced the air.

"Trevor?" Franklin called to him, rubbing his bruised wrists.

Uncle T spun around, a wide smile spread across his scarred face at the sight of us. "Frankie! Tracey! Mikey! What a surprise! What are you guys doing here?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Trev," Dad replied.

A blue sedan emerged, skidding into a stop before us. The door opened, and a man stepped out, the rain soaking through his crisp, tan-colored suit.

Dad's eyes bulged at the sight of him. "Dave?"

Back slightly hunched and face wizened with age, Dave glanced at me, and frowned. He reached into his car, grabbed an umbrella, and offered it to me. I smiled at him, and mouthed, "Thank you."

Dad helped me into a stance, and opened the umbrella for me, the black fabric protected us from the rainfall.

"Mr. Depressed Accountant," Uncle T glared at Dave. "I thought we were done with you corrupt, FIB bastards. Sending dirty cops to my home in the middle of the night, threatening to arrest me for drug procession, only to find out it was all just a fucking setup to get me out here…" A deep, guttural growl rose from the depths of Uncle T's throat. "I shoulda known those fucking cops were dirty when they didn't take the black guy. Oh, there better be a real good explanation for this. You interrupted a very intimate moment between me and a friend of mine—"

"You had an intimate moment with Lamar?" Franklin furrowed his brows. "Is he a'ight? What'd you do to him, dog?"

"Nothing he didn't want me to," Uncle T smirked.

Dave cleared his throat. "I expected better from you three," he said, his voice was slow and relaxed, yet authoritative. "I sent cops out to bring you all here. Sorry if they gave you a hard time, but we have a problem, a big one."

"What are you talking about?" Dad asked. "The fuck is this all about, Dave? Why'd you bring us out here in the middle of the fucking night, in the pouring fucking rain? What could be so goddamn important? Couldn't you have waited until the morning? Jesus, you brought my daughter into this?"

"Calm down, Michael," Dave replied. He pulled a flashlight from his suit pocket, and made a slow advance through the tall grass. "There's something I need to show you. Follow me."

Dad, Franklin, and Uncle T exchanged wary glances with one another.

"Fuck it," Franklin shrugged, and took off after Dave.

"This better be worth it," Uncle T grumbled, following them.

"Stay close to me, baby," Dad said, as we tailed behind them.

The bright beam of Dave's flashlight guided us through the night's shadows. The wet ground was spongy, and the slide of grass against my bare legs tickled. Dad held the umbrella high over my head, raindrops cascaded from the rim.

"Dad, who is Dave?" I asked.

"He's FIB," Dad stated.

"Can we trust him?"

"Sure, but that don't mean we shouldn't be careful. Me and Dave—we got history. He's gotten me out of shit no one else could, but it always came with a price. I gotta feeling he dragged us out here because he wants something. And we're about to find out what that is real soon."

As we walked, a rotting stench had begun to overpower the scent of manure, so revoltingly terrible, I was tempted to drop everything and run. God, it stunk. Whatever he was going to show us, seriously wasn't worth it.

"Jesus fuck!" Dad exclaimed. "What is that smell?"

"Smells like death," Uncle T stated.

Dave halted, abruptly, and stepped aside, shining his light into a wide ditch carved into the wet earth. There were bodies inside! Dead bodies! I yelped, both of my hands flew up to cover my mouth. They lay like broken dolls in the grass, limbs gnarled and twisted, decaying out in the open. It was a mass grave, full of lifeless, bloodied corpses, and pitted with disgusting insects.

I turned away, burying my face in Dad's chest. There was bile on the tip of my tongue, but I choked it down. Who killed all these people? Who would do something like this? It was sickening…

Dad held me tight, his muscles quaking. "What the fuck, Dave? My daughter's right here!"

"Michael!" Dave snapped, a pinched, tension-filled expression on his face. "I'm sorry, okay? But you had to see this."

"Damn, that's fucked up," Franklin muttered, pinching his nose shut. "I thought shady shit like this only happened in movies."

"Fuckin' A, man…" Dad wheezed. "And I thought we were bad. This is some sick, sadistic shit."

"What happened to all these poor fuckers?" Uncle T asked, glancing at Dave.

"One of Madrazo's mass graves," Dave said. "If you become his enemy, chances are, you'll end up somewhere like this. He has three more hidden within Blaine County alone, and plenty more scattered across the country."

"But these bodies look fresh," Uncle T said. "Didn't you get the memo? We killed Madrazo a week ago, Mikey and I tossed that arrogant little fucker over a cliff, into the ocean."

"The guy is swimming with the fishes, Davey," Dad said.

Dave sighed heavily. "Whatever you idiots did to him, it only pissed him off. Madrazo is alive and well, and he's on the warpath. There's been more than forty gang related murders in Los Santos over the weekend alone, every single homicide connected to the cartel. Chamberlain Hills, Strawberry, Davis—it's a fucking warzone. He wants revenge, he's targeting the Families, and innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire—"

"Since when did you give fuck about innocent people?" Dad asked.

"My agency has been trying to take down the Mexican cartel for years," Dave said. "But Madrazo has always been one step ahead of us. He's getting reckless now, this might be our chance to move in for the kill if we work together."

"If Madrazo really is alive, and wants revenge, why's he killing random ass niggas in the hood?" Franklin asked. "Shouldn't he be comin' after us?"

"If I'm not mistaken," Dave replied, "You do have an affiliation with the Families, don't you? They were with you the night you staged an attack on him at the Maze Bank Arena, weren't they?"

"Is there anything you FIB turds don't know?" Uncle T asked.

Dave grinned. "It's my personal mission to keep tabs on all of you. It never ceases to amaze me how much trouble you guys can get into. It's a miracle you three aren't dead yet."

"Who are you kidding, Davey?" Dad joked. "That's why you love us. We're practically immortal."

"You've been lucky, Michael, but your luck is bound to run out eventually," Dave cautioned. "Going to war with a fucking drug cartel…" He shook his head. "What were you thinking? You've put everyone you know and love in danger. He might have me on his hitlist too, you never know."

"Trevor started it," I muttered.

"And I intend to end it," Uncle T declared.

"How are you gonna do that?" Dad asked. "He's not gonna let us get close to him again. We had our chance, and we fucking blew it."

Uncle T grimaced. "Shoulda just shot that prick in the head and called it a day. This is what we get for being creative."

"Look, Madrazo is deranged, he's hungry for blood," Dave said. "It's only a matter of time before he brings the entire cartel down on your heads. You have two options. You can hide, I'll make a few calls, and get you some protection. Or you can fight, and we can take this bastard down together."

"Together?" Dad scoffed. "I doubt you're gonna help us out of the goodness of your heart. Need another badge of honor to show off to your FIB buddies? Madrazo's head would make for a better trophy than the great Michael Townley, wouldn't it?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't question it," Dave replied. "You can use all the friends you can get right now. Anyway, try and lay low for a while. Keep some distance between you and Los Santos, I'll be in touch."

"Lay low where?" Franklin asked. "Look at all these damn corpses, man. Clearly this desert ain't safe either."

Dave shrugged his shoulders, and turned away. "Nowhere is safe, but the farther you are from Los Santos, the better."

"Fuck," Dad grumbled, kicking his heel against the dirt. "Fuckin' hate this shithole desert."

"You ain't the only one," Franklin added. "How long you think we gotta stay here?"

"If it were up to me, indefinitely," Uncle T said. "You know, you guys are always welcome at my place—"

"No thanks," Franklin and Dad answered in unison.

Uncle T gasped. "You know what? Fuck you, I've officially revoked both of your invitations, assholes."

Dad glanced at Franklin. "Hey, Frank, can we talk?"

"Uh, yeah," Franklin feigned a smile. "Wassup?"

"Tracey!" Uncle T threw an arm over my shoulder, and escorted me away from Franklin and Dad. "Since we're all stuck here, wanna go get a bite to eat? It'll be my treat, I'm starving. What're you in the mood for, huh? Something sweet, right? I know a good ice cream joint, let's pick up Lamar on the way there—"

"Um…" I glanced at my boyfriend. "What about Frank?"

"My god, why are you so clingy? You don't have to follow Frankie around like a dog, be your own woman for fuck's sake!"

"But I don't wanna be my own woman," I frowned. "I wanna be his woman."

Uncle T froze, and narrowed his eyes at me. "That's the sweetest, most pathetic thing I've ever heard."

"I just don't think it's a good idea for us to split up. The FIB guy said we're in danger—"

Uncle T sighed heavily. "Okay, I'll make sure Frank meets us there as soon as he wraps things up with your father, alright?"

I smiled. "Great." My gaze swept over the vast meadow. We were far out from civilization, and we had no car. It was going to be a long walk back to Sandy Shores. I glanced at Uncle T with pleading eyes. "Uncle T, can you carry me?"

" _No_ ," he glowered. "What do I look like to you, huh? I'm not a horse, there's no free rides here. You have legs, use 'em—"

"Pretty please, Uncle T?" I begged, in the sweetest voice I could muster. "I love you."

"Fucking hell…" His frown faded, a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Fine, I'll do it. C'mere, hop on my back, kid." He bent over slightly. "Quick, before I change my mind."

* * *

It was midnight by the time we reached the ice cream parlor. Lamar hovered over the counter, his glazed eyes fixed on the long, colorful line of ice cream and sherbets behind the glass. Brows scrunched up tight, he seemed to be completely stumped by the large assortment of flavors, so many different possibilities had sent his brain into a dubious stupor. I tapped my feet against the white tiled floor. Uncle T and I have been waiting five long, agonizing minutes for Lamar to make up his mind. At this rate, we were going to be stuck here all night.

"Lamar, just fucking choose something already," Uncle T grumbled. "We don't have all night."

"Chill, homie," Lamar retorted. "Can't you see a motherfucker just tryna weigh his options? Let a nigga breathe, man."

"We've been letting you breathe for over ten minutes now. We don't have all day. Fucking order already, or I'm gonna do it for you."

Lamar sucked his teeth, and waved a hand at the teenaged, pimple-faced employee behind the counter. He glanced at us and feigned a smile, the poor kid seemed to be the only staff member working the nightshift. "How can I help you?"

Lamar leaned in, closely inspecting the employee's silver name tag. "Wassup, uh… Dexter? I'ma need you to listen real close, 'cause I'm real particular 'bout my ice cream, you feel me? I need the quantity and measurements of each scoop to be just right, a'ight?"

"Uh, s-sure," Dexter stammered. "Would you like a cone or a cup?"

Lamar snorted. "For real? I'm a grown motherfuckin' man, dog. Do it look like I want a motherfuckin' cup? I want a motherfuckin' cone, man."

Dexter's face flushed red. "Er, cone it is then…" He grabbed a waffle cone from behind the counter, and a scooper. "What would you like?"

Lamar dipped low, and tapped the case, his breath fogging the glass. "A'ight, gimme a quarter scoop of the mint chocolate chip, a half a quarter scoop of the peanut butter cup, a three quarter scoop of the butter pecan, and a whole scoop of cookies and cream. Oh, and I'ma need some rainbow sprinkles and gummy bears on top, that's the most important part, dog."

Dexter gaped at Lamar, a blank expression on his face. "A q-quarter scoop?"

"Yeah, you heard me. Y'all don't do quarter scoops here?"

"What exactly is a quarter scoop, sir?"

"I think it's when you scoop only enough to fill one-fourth of the cup," I said.

Lamar nodded. "Yeah, what the white girl said."

Uncle T shot a glare at Dexter. "Well? What's the hold up, huh? Give my friend his fucking ice cream, _now_!"

I cringed, startled by Uncle T's harsh shout. Dexter cowered, white-faced and quaking, he bowed his head, avoiding Uncle T's eyes. "I-I… don't remember his order—"

Uncle T slammed his fists against the counter, silencing him. When he spoke, his voice was deep and ominous. "Listen to me, you ugly piece of shit. You see my niece right there?" He pointed at me. "Look at her! She's so skinny, she's practically disappearing. If it weren't for that dorky neck cast, none of us would be able to see her. She's fucking starving, okay? She needs that fucking ice cream, and I'll be damned if let a limp dick fuck like you waste another second of our time—"

As if Dexter's heart had stopped cold, suddenly, he collapsed, his pudgy body hit the floor with a loud **_thump_** _._

I took a tentative step forward, and hazard a glance over the counter. Dexter laid on the floor as still as a corpse. I gasped, slapping a hand over my mouth. Is he dead?

Lamar took my side, gaping at Dexter's motionless body. "Damn, yo' uncle scared the soul straight out this motherfucker's body. Now that's some shit you don't see every day."

Uncle T glanced at Dexter, and smirked. "Well, that's a first." He vaulted over the counter, and knelt before the kid, checking his pulse. "False alarm, he's still breathing."

"Thank god," I sighed. "He probably got spooked and fainted."

A hand tapped my shoulder. I jerked around, and bumped into a solid wall of muscle. Glancing upward, I met Franklin's soft, brown gaze. I beamed at the sight of him. He was finally here! We've only been apart for about an hour, but it felt like an eternity. I leapt into his strong arms, hugging him tight. He spun me around playfully, and planted a kiss on my forehead. I flushed, nuzzling his rugged face.

"Yo, what's good, Frank?" Lamar greeted, opening his arms to Franklin.

"Sup, nigga," Franklin set me down, and gave Lamar a pound.

"Nah, fuck all that," Lamar snatched his hand away. "Where my hugs at? Why don't I ever get no love? I'm tryna get twirled around and shit too. Embrace me, nigga—"

"Man, back yo' silly ass up," Franklin grinned, pushing Lamar lightly. "You play too much."

"Holy smokes!" Dad exclaimed, hovering over the counter, his eyes fixed on the teenaged body lying behind it. "Trevor, why is it that whenever you go, corpses always turn up? Did you kill him?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Mikey," Uncle T said, "But this 'corpse' you speak of, isn't a corpse at all. Just some kid who shit himself and fainted. If I killed him, it'd be _a lot_ messier in here."

Dad shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say."

Uncle T tapped a button on the cash register, and with a jingle, it lurched open, revealing five stacks of cash.

"Really, Uncle T?" I glared at him, arms crossed over my chest. "Haven't you done enough harm already?"

"Nope," he replied, snatching the money from the register and shoving it into his pockets. "Better we take it before someone else does."

"Oh shit, save some of that bread for me," Lamar said, stuffing his pockets with a wad of cash as well.

Dad shook his head. "You know, after taking the big score, I figured petty crimes like this was below us, T."

"Since when did you become such a pompous prick?" Uncle T argued. "Sure, we might be sitting on millions of dollars in gold bricks, but this is a lifestyle, M. I'll be a criminal until the day I die, and so will you."

Franklin gravitated to the glass entrance, and flipped the 'We're open' sign to 'Sorry, we're closed'. "Well, if we finna steal some shit, can we at least take some ice cream too?"

"Be my guest, I honestly don't give a shit," Dad retorted. "We got bigger things to worry about."

"Like Madrazo," I suggested. "Shouldn't we be trying to come up with a plan instead of committing a robbery?"

"The plan's simple," Uncle T said, grabbing an entire bucket of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the case. "We find Madrazo, we end Madrazo, preferably with a gun, or maybe a hammer, I don't care which. Any questions? I mean, assuming Madrazo is even alive. We threw him off a fucking cliff, no one could survive a fall like that."

"Dave wouldn't lie to us, T. Not about something like this."

"Really? Why not? He's lied to us countless times before. Did you forget about Brad—"

"I don't have time for this shit," Dad scoffed, turning away from us. "Unlike you, I have a family to worry about. So, whenever you guys are ready to come up with a real plan, come find me. I'm gonna go get us a getaway car, since you know, this is literally an active robbery, and somebody's gonna have to get us the fuck outta here before the police show up."

"Good thinking, buddy!" Uncle T shouted, waving at Dad. "We're just gonna grab a few more cartons, if you don't mind."

"Sure, take your time, there's no rush at all," Dad glanced at me. "Tracey, with me."

I frowned. "B-but—"

" _Now_ ," he demanded, as he strode out the door.

* * *

 **Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! Leave a review, lemme know what you think. I love you guys, your ongoing support and feedback means the world to me, and inspires me to post updates regularly. Thank you for reading :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys! So this chapter was a real bitch to write lol, but its finally done! So let's get to reading!**

* * *

We used a yellow convertible as our getaway car. I had no idea who it belonged to, but Dad didn't seem to care, and managed to hotwire it rather easily. Uncle T and the others met us outside, stumbling along with stolen ice cream cartons in hand. We ate while on the road, the desert street was an endless river of baked asphalt under the waning moon. It was a starry night, and luckily, we got a clear view of the surreal, twinkling beauty overhead. Luminous and glittering, the star-speckled sky was mesmerizing.

We drove for hours, and Franklin held me close the entire way. I drifted in and out of sleep, my head lolled on his shoulder, our fingers intertwined. During our long drive, occasionally, he'd hand feed me scoops of ice cream, and shower my cheeks in playful kisses—only when my dad wasn't paying attention, of course. Daddy was too busy arguing with Uncle T most of the drive to notice a thing.

Lamar had been fast asleep since the moment his butt hit the car seat. I hope he's okay. He seemed to be handling the fallout between him and Denise well. If only I could be that strong. I wouldn't be able to cope if Franklin left me behind, especially after everything we've been through. I was too attached to him. Despite our arguments and pitfalls, he was my rock, sturdy and strong, he's always there for me when I need him. I'd be lost without him.

It was scary to depend on someone so much, but I couldn't help it.

The sun had begun to rise, streaks of pink and red scattered across the cloudless sky, golden light thwarted the darkness, bathing the earth in warmth. I awoke to the gentle melody of birdsong, and the fresh, sweet scent of early morning dew. My eyes widened at the sight of pine trees lining the road.

We weren't in the desert anymore! No more sand, no more cactuses, no more dry, stale air—we were surrounded by an oasis of green, verdant woodland. The closely-knit trees rose from the damp earth to brush the sky, sun-dappled leaves creating flickering shadows on the ground. Butterflies and moths fluttered close to the wildflowers scattered across the dewy grass, and squirrels darted amongst the fallen leaves in search for acorns. I took in a deep breath, cherishing the wholesome aroma of clean air, pine and sweet cedar.

Dad abruptly pulled over on the side of the road. Hidden within the depths of the forest was a winding footpath between the trees, it was rutted with undergrowth and mud. Pine cones dotted the rarely traveled route, glistening beneath the sun like spilled baubles. Where did the path lead?

Lamar let out a long, drawn-out yawn. "Damn, where the fuck we at?"

"Somewhere Madrazo won't find us," Dad cut the engine, and stepped out of the car.

"So, that's the plan?" Uncle T asked. "We gonna hide out in the forest like a bunch of pussies? Living on squirrel meat and acorns? Taking shits by the creek and using leaves as toilet paper? Sleeping on twigs and dirt for the rest of our lives—"

"Stop jumping to conclusions, T," Dad said. "We're just going on hike, alright?"

"A hike?" Franklin asked, his gaze darted about the surrounding shrubs and trees. "Fuck a hike, dog. Bet you there's mad big ass cougars all over this motherfucker, just waiting to eat my black ass. I rather take my chances in the motherfuckin' desert, man."

"Yeah," Lamar nodded. "I don't know 'bout y'all, but me and Frank don't fuck with no nature. We black, you feel me? Niggas like us stay as far away from the woods, and forests as possible."

"Fuck, you guys complain more than I do," Dad retorted. "No one's gonna get eaten, I promise. Just follow me, everything will make sense soon enough."

Uncle T narrowed his eyes at Dad. "You know I don't like surprises, Porkchop," he warned.

"I got guns stashed out here, lots of 'em. Couldn't leave them in the house with the kids, so I had to get creative. Anyway, we're gonna need all the firepower we can get to take on a pissed off drug cartel." Dad whirled around, and stepped onto the footpath, the mud smudging his fancy shoes.

We all took off after my father, trekking through the moist dirt and wildflowers. Pine needles and twigs crunched underfoot, our steps barely audible beneath melodic birdsong. Franklin and I lagged behind the rest of the group, my arm hooked around his to keep my balance on the uneven terrain. Brows furrowed, and muscles tensed, his wary gaze shifted about the forest frantically. Startled by the most trivial noises of the great forest, he flinched at the slightest unfamiliar sound, the tickling tap of woodpeckers and small animals rooting around in the underbrush had him on edge.

"Not used to nature, are you?" I asked, trying to stifle a laugh. "Are you going to be okay?"

He cackled awkwardly. "I'm good," he stated boastfully, feigning a smile.

"You can drop the false bravado," I nudged him playfully. "I can tell you're out of your element. You've seriously never been camping before or anything? Like when you were a kid?"

"Nah, never considered it. There ain't no local campin' grounds near the hood."

I shrugged. "You could drive. My parents took me and Jimmy camping all the time—"

"Girl, we ain't have no car when I was a kid. My moms couldn't afford it. Bills had to be paid, the lights had to stay on."

"Oh…" Heat rose to my cheeks. "I'm sorry. At least you can afford to go camping now, right?"

"Yeah, but that don't mean I want to, Trace." He swatted his hand through the air, fending off the insects buzzing around his head. "Man, all these motherfuckin' bugs—how do you deal with this shit?"

"Bug spray," I stated. "Hey, what if I wanted you to go camping with me? You'd do it, wouldn't you?"

" _No_ ," he answered, quick and without a second thought.

"Pleeeese?" I begged, hugging his muscled arm tight. "You'd let me go camping alone? What if I get attacked by a bear?"

"It ain't my fault if a bear tears the meat off yo' ass, girl. You the one who decided to go campin' alone. It ain't safe out here—"

"Frank…" I whined, my voice high-pitched and pouty. "Pretty please?"

"Nah," he said, his lips pressed into a scowl. "Ain't gonna happen."

Determined to change his mind, and lighten the mood, I bent over and picked a handful of daisies from the grass. "Here," I smiled, presenting him with the flowers.

Franklin's expression softened, a faint rosiness tinted his beautiful brown skin. "Damn, ain't you sweet?" He smiled. "Thanks, baby. "

Lamar popped up beside us and held up a three-leaf clover in front of Franklin's face. "Look what I found, nigga. This supposed to give me good luck and shit, right?"

Franklin replied, "Nah, fool. It's missin' a leaf. Four-leaf clovers are good luck, not three, dummy."

"Oh," Lamar shrugged his shoulders, and tossed the clover aside. "So, where y'all think Michael leadin' us?"

"No fuckin' clue," Franklin said. "But wherever it is, I hope we get there soon."

Lamar's gaze shifted to a sturdy stick lining the path. He swept the solid wood into his grasp, and smirked. "Y'all know all kinds of shit be lurkin' in these forests, right? Bears, wolves, wild boar—I ain't tryna get caught out here slippin, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Franklin furrowed his brows. "And you think that bitch ass stick is gon' save you from a wild ass animal, huh? What you finna do if a bear roll up?"

"Let a bear try some slick shit. I won't kill 'em, 'cause you know, that's animal abuse, and I got a special connection with four legged creatures and shit. But I'll knock a motherfuckin' bear out cold if I got to—put knots all over that fat ass, furry motherfucker's head. Clack, clack, nigga! Bear down, early hibernation, you feel me? He gonna be dreamin' about stealing picnic baskets the whole year through—"

"Bullshit, nigga," Franklin chuckled. "That bear finna tear a hole in yo' scrawny ass, dog."

"Nah, nigga, nah. I could take a bear, easy."

"No, you can't, stupid."

"Yeah, I can, fool. I got this stick, I'm good."

"That stick ain't gonna do shit. A bear could snap that shit in two without even tryin'."

Lamar rolled his eyes. "You know what? Fuck the bear. Keep talkin' shit about my stick, and I'ma lay yo' ass out with it instead."

"Try it, bitch," Franklin retorted with a smirk. "I dare you."

"You know I got the advantage, right? I'm taller, I got mad reach, I'm faster—"

"But I'm stronger, homie."

"So?"

"What you mean 'so'?" Franklin snapped. "Strength makes a difference, nigga."

"No, it don't," Lamar rebuked. "You fat and slow, you won't even touch me, man."

"Man, fuck you."

"You know it's true. You too damn big, dog. Just accept it, motherfucker, and make the change. Go on a vegan diet or some shit…"

As Franklin and Lamar continued to spit insults at one another, arguing about who would win in a fight, I tuned them out, focusing on the route ahead. At the end of the footpath, tucked beneath a cluster of trees and obscured by leafy canopy, stood a redwood cabin. It was stooped low on a grassy hill, as if trying to hide, but the drooping brick roof was too wide to be overlooked. Long vines and wildflowers grew against the mud-chinked logs.

The lodge was undoubtedly built long ago, the wood chipped and dusty, but it held a natural, rustic beauty. It was timeless, still standing despite the isolation and disrepair. It was a small wonder the structure hadn't caved in yet.

Without a care of who, or _what_ lingered within, Dad strode right through the warped door of the cabin. Uncle T, Lamar, and Franklin joined him inside. I considered going in too, until I laid eyes on the worn, makeshift swing. The wooden plank seat had dangled by a rope beside the cabin, abandoned and swaying in the breeze.

Childhood memories came rushing back to me. Dad used to take me to the park all the time, just to push me on the swing. I missed those days. Life was easier back then, carefree and simple.

I trudged over to the swing and sat on the aged wood. The ropes were rough and tattered, but I didn't mind. It was surprisingly peaceful here, a woodland sanctuary of vibrant daisies and emerald green grass. There was no one around to hurt me. I was safe. Free.

A wall of warm, rippling muscle pressed against my back, a strong, calloused hand clasped my shoulder.

"Wassup, girl?" Franklin tucked one of the daisies I gave him gently behind my ear. He tugged on the rope, testing its strength. "Want me to push you?"

Bouncing in my seat, I beamed at my boyfriend. "Yes! Push me!"

Franklin grinned, amused by my excitement, he gave me a tentative nudge. I kicked my feet up, cackling as I swung through the air, a tingling sensation warmed my heart. He pushed me and pushed me, gently, wind ruffled my hair and cooled my skin. The simple activity was just as fun as I remembered it to be. Who needed a phone, or a computer to have fun? Some rope, a board, and an awesome boyfriend was enough to keep me satisfied.

I spotted Dad from the corner of my eyes. A duffel bag hanging loosely from his shoulder, he stalked toward us with his usual purposeful stride. Our fun ended abruptly as Franklin gripped tightly to the rope, stopping my motion. He turned to face my father, feigning a smile. "What's good, Mike?"

"We got the guns," Dad said. "It's time to go. F, you're with me. Tracey, you're gonna stay here for a while. I made some calls, Dave's got some FIB guys heading here now to protect you. Everything's gonna be okay."

My stomach dropped, I gazed at Franklin helplessly. "B-but I don't want to be alone, Dad—"

"The FIB will be here any moment now. They're professionals, Trace. They'll keep you safe." Dad hugged me tight. "Daddy's gotta go take care of business, alright? You'll be fine. No one's gonna bother you out here but squirrels." He pulled away and glanced at Franklin. "C'mon, F. We got a drug lord to kill."

Franklin sighed and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back before you know it," he said.

The men turned away, my heart sinking lower and lower into my chest. I grimaced, tears choked my throat, burning as they threatened to spill over. The urge to break down grew stronger and stronger with every step Franklin took to distance himself from me. There was an ache in my chest, a rush of pain welled inside me. My heartbeat came to a slow, and the world melted away. All I could see was my love walking away from me, leaving me behind to fend for myself, our forever fading away into absolute nothingness.

I had an inexplicable feeling in my chest, like a sixth sense, that if he left me now… I'd never see him again.

 _No! I need him!_

My toes curled, my body thrummed with energy, begging me to go after him.

So I did.

I ran like the wind, bolting through the grass. He whirled around to face me, and I leapt into his arms, clinging to him as if he were my lifeline. I sobbed hysterically against his broad chest, my inhibitions stripping away with every teardrop. "D-don't leave me," I stammered tearfully, my desperate blubbering split the calm, serene forest. "Please, I-I can't… I c-can't…" My voice faded to pitiful, incoherent croaks.

Franklin stumbled, his thick brows raised. He stood there, frozen and conflicted, his lips pressed into a fine line. "Trace," he swallowed hard, his gaze shifting between Dad and I. "I don't wanna leave yo' ass either, but…"

"Tracey, baby," Dad said softly, his eyes laced with concern. "Maybe some distance between you and Frank is for the best. It'll give you time to think about what you really want. The life me and F lead, it's dangerous. We're on the FIB's most wanted list for Christ's sake." Dad sighed. "I'm just gonna put it bluntly—Frank ain't the right guy for you. You'll never have the normal life you deserve with him, alright? The strippers, the gangbanging… I know it's hard to hear, but I'm telling you, he's no good for you. He's like a son to me, I love 'em to death but—"

"Really feelin' the love right now, _pops_ ," Franklin muttered.

"I want a better life for you, sweetie," Dad continued. "Better than I gave your mother. There's plenty of fish in the sea, you'll find someone new in no time."

Dad couldn't comprehend how much I needed my boyfriend. He didn't understand how much he meant to me, because he didn't care to. He refused to accept our relationship. Trying to talk to him was pointless, he was so stubborn, nothing could get through his thick head.

If words weren't going to work, I had to improvise. My crying intensified, growing louder and unhinged.

Lamar marched out of the cabin with Uncle T at his heels. "My boy Frank is perfect for the white girl!" Lamar shouted. "Why you hatin', dog?"

"Mind your damn business, asshat," Dad snapped. "This is my daughter—"

"Give the kids some slack, Michael!" Uncle T shouted, barreling down the steps of the cabin, storming toward us. "So what if they wanna be together? Who cares, eh? Let them live their lives, damn it." He laid a hand on Dad's shoulder, his voice softened. "Don't you remember what it was like to be young and in love? You were head over heels for a fucking prostitute—a cheap, ugly one at that—and no one could tell you otherwise."

Franklin blinked. "For real? Amanda was a prostitute?"

"No, she wasn't, Frank," Dad scoffed.

"Yes, she was, Frank," Uncle T argued. "She was the biggest whore in the Midwest, Michael. And you fucking know it—"

"Okay, fine! Maybe my wife was a whore, but she did what she had to do to survive. Unlike you," Dad stabbed a finger at Uncle T. "You murder, you lie, you steal, not because you have to—you're just insane!"

" _You_ calling me a 'liar'?" Uncle T laughed, ugly and bitter. "You have some fucking nerve. I rather be a sinner than a hypocrite!"

"Oh, here we go again with this same bullshit," Dad threw his hands in the air, and paced through the grass, fists clenched. "I lied, so what? Cry me a river, T. Get the fuck over it already."

"Forgive and forget, homie," Lamar added. "That's what best friends do."

"Forgive and forget?" Uncle T glowered. "No! Resent and remember! Best friends don't stab each other in the back. Best friends don't lie to one another."

"Crazy Dude got a point," Lamar said. "Me and Frank—"

"I don't give a shit about you and Frank," Dad snapped, glaring at Lamar. "Why the fuck are you even here, anyway?"

"Don't talk to my boy Long Dick like that," Uncle T retorted. "He's my friend, a real friend. He's everything you aren't—"

"Ay!" Franklin blurted. "Would y'all two shut the fuck up? All this motherfuckin' arguing, just for y'all to be best fuckin' friends a second later—it's bullshit." My boyfriend glanced at Uncle T. "Sure, Michael faked his death, had Brad buried in his place, and then ran away to Los Santos. That was some treacherous shit, but what about North Yankton? All the memories y'all made together? Did you forget 'bout all that shit? Just 'cause your homie did a few things wrong, you gonna forget 'bout everythin' he did right? Man, give Mike a break. We all human, ain't we?"

Uncle T sighed. "If it weren't for the shit we've been through in North Yankton, I woulda put a bullet in Michael's skull a long, long time ago. But we got memories. We've been through hell together—we jumped into the flames with our cocks out, fucked the devil and his wife, and somehow, we came out the other side still breathing, dick and balls still attached."

"That analogy sounds all kinds of wrong, dog," Lamar said.

"Agreed," Dad muttered.

"Look, y'all need to get over yourselves," Franklin said, his gaze shifting between Uncle T and Dad. "The past is the past, and ain't shit finna change it. Stop dwellin' on old ass bullshit and think about the here and now. That's the only shit that matters. And right now, Tracey needs us."

Dad gazed at me and frowned. "We shouldn't make this about us, T."

Uncle T nodded. "Finally, something we can agree on, Mikey."

Franklin stroked his fingers through my unkempt hair, his gentle touch soothed me, my panic-stricken sobs quieted down to sniffles. "Michael, I'ma be straight up with you, dog…" He looked my father directly in the eye. "I'm really feelin' your daughter. Our relationship ain't easy, we argue a lot, we fight over stupid bullshit. And it's all on me. I know I'm fucked up, but every day we spend together, little by little, she makes me into a better man, you feel me? I ain't tryna gangbang no more, I don't need no damn strip clubs, just…" He sighed. "Just give me a chance, Mike. I'll spend the rest of my life workin' to be the man she deserves if I got to."

"Tell me the truth, Frank," Dad said, his expression stony. "You in love with my daughter?"

Franklin gazed into my wide, bleary eyes, a soft smile tugged at his full lips. " _I love her_ ," he declared. "This shit we got goin' on—it's real."

My heart swelled. I grinned, my cheeks hurting from the big, goofy smile pulling at my mouth. Wow. I couldn't believe it! He said he loved me, in front of my _dad_! Bouncing on the tip of my toes, I leapt into his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. He held me in his great, strong embrace, and planted a big kiss on my cheek. I flushed as Lamar clapped his hands together, applauding us. Usually I'd shy away from this kind of affection, especially with my dad watching, but right now, all I cared about was my boyfriend. Nothing else mattered.

Franklin's luminous, golden brown gaze found mine, his natural, flawless brown skin glowing beneath the sunlight. I marveled at his beauty, my fingers skimmed across wide, powerful jawline, his rugged beard ticklish beneath my skin. How did I get so lucky? He was gorgeous. Perfect.

A deep, satisfying sigh slipped through Uncle T's lips. "If that ain't love, Mikey, I don't know what is."

Dad stared at Franklin and I as we held one another tight, refusing to let go. The downcast expression on his weathered face brightened, rising into a smile. He took a step forward and laid a hand on Franklin's shoulder. "You know what? Why don't you stay behind with Tracey, kid? I think she needs you a lot more than we do."

Tears brimming my eyes, I exhaled. Finally, we had my father's blessing.

Franklin glanced at Dad. "You sure y'all can handle shit without me?"

"Of course, we can." Uncle T threw an arm around Lamar's shoulder. "Long Dick would be glad to help us out instead, won't he?"

Lamar nodded. "Shit, yeah, I'll cover for my boy, no problem. I wanna see Madrazo buried six feet under just as much as the next nigga anyway."

"Good lookin' out, dog," Franklin set me down, and gave Lamar a pound. "Try not to fuck shit up like you always do, a'ight?"

"Don't even trip," Lamar replied. "I got this."

"He'll be fine as long as he follows our lead," Dad said, turning away. "Lamar, I'll fill you in on the plan while we're on the road to LS. Let's move."

"See you around, kiddos," Uncle T waved at us. "Try not to have too much fun—"

"Wait!" I threw my arm around him and squeezed. "Please don't die. Watch after Dad for me, okay?"

"Don't you worry, I'll be watching that fat snake like a hawk," he said, returning the hug. "Enjoy your romantic getaway with Frank, alright? You both deserve it."

Uncle T jogged after Dad, but Lamar's feet remained rooted in the grass. He said, "Looks like a nigga finally made the cut for the white-collar crime mentorship program, huh?"

"Looks like it," Franklin feigned a smile. "But take this shit seriously, homie. You ain't dealin' with no bitch ass Ballas no more. Madrazo's crew is on a whole 'nother level—"

"Frank, man," Lamar scoffed. "When you finna realize that we two different types of niggas? While cats like you be indoors, hiding and shit—like bitches—dogs like me be out in the wild, huntin' motherfuckers, you feel me? Dogs gotta eat, you know what I'm sayin'? You ain't nothin' but a Kibbles n' Bits ass nigga."

"You a lost fuckin' cause, LD," Franklin shook his head.

I frowned. It was great that Lamar was confident, but underestimating Madrazo was a deadly mistake. Hopefully his ego doesn't get him killed. He still had so much to live for, including fixing things between him and Franklin's aunt. I glanced at the number etched across my cast. "Lamar," I said, grabbing his attention. "Take down this number before you go, it's Denise's."

"What?" he blinked, gazing at my cast. "This my baby's new number? How'd you get it?"

"It doesn't matter how I got it, just take it. I know you miss her. I don't know what happened between you two, but you deserve a second chance. Call her, please, whenever you can. Make it work, I want you to be happy."

"You know, you ain't so bad, White Girl," Lamar smiled. "Frank chose the right one."

* * *

A silver of moonlight spilled through the cabin windows, shedding just enough light to navigate around the rustic sofa and crude wooden table without stumbling all over the place. Wrapped snugly in a flowery quilt on the couch, I waited patiently for Franklin to start a fire. Although the wilderness made him uncomfortable, he adapted to his surroundings quicker than I expected. He braved the cold night and managed to scavenge dry wood for the fireplace all on his own. Using a gas lighter, he set the timber ablaze.

We sat comfy by the warming, crackling glow, our features illuminated by the flickering light. The smell of pine filled the air as it burned, smoke ebbed into the chimney.

I glanced at the duffel bag on the table. Dad left behind a crapload of nonperishable food, guns, and various supplies needed for survival out in the wild. We were well stocked, but our provisions wouldn't last forever. We could probably last a week or two, three at most if we're conservative. Hopefully we weren't forced to stay here long.

As of right now, though, everything was perfect. I was warm, comfortable, and most importantly, safe from bad guys. At least for now.

"You know, the forest ain't so bad after all," Franklin said. "It's dark as shit, we ain't got no electricity or running water, there's bugs everywhere, but besides that, it's cool."

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's really quiet here compared to the city, isn't it?"

"Too quiet…" He muttered, his gaze scanned the shadowy corners of the cabin. He seemed to be on edge, muscles tensed, and constantly fidgeting at every sound, just like this morning. Maybe he wasn't adapting to the environment as well as I thought. It wasn't his fault after all, living in the heart of the forest was brand new to him—the unfamiliar territory was the opposite of the city he was so well accustomed to.

I was sure he would rather be off fighting Madrazo right now. Instead, he chose to stay here, cooped up in this cabin with me. The least I could do was try to make him feel comfortable.

I threw my quilt around his broad shoulders and snuggled close to him. "Frank, no one's going to bother us out here. We're completely isolated from the rest of the world. We're safe now, don't worry."

"What makes you so sure?" Franklin asked. "Considerin' our luck lately, I wouldn't be surprised if motherfuckers roll up on us right now—"

" _Shhh_ ," I pressed my finger to his full lips. "Can you at least try to relax? For me?"

He smiled, his arms enveloped me in a warm, luxurious hug. Our breathing in unison, and thighs snuggling, the tension in his muscles gradually loosened. Chest to chest, his rugged cheek nuzzled mine. I broke out in giggles from the sweet gesture, my fingers stroking through his curly, neatly trimmed fade. I took in a deep breath, basking in the swoon-worthy scent of pine needles and tobacco rising from his skin. My head lolled on his shoulder, my eyes drooping closed. Crap, I was tired.

I lingered in his strong embrace for quite some time, melting into him like butter, like it was exactly where I belonged. I drifted off to sleep multiple times, but it was hard for me to fall into a deep slumber on a sofa, fully clothed, with a neck brace at that. Removing the brace was easy enough, and I thought unbuttoning my jean shorts would be as well, but it was actually a pain to accomplish with only one hand.

"Frank," I murmured. "Can you help me?"

Eyes heavy, Franklin yawned, a deep sigh resonated in his chest. "What you need, baby?"

"My shorts won't come off."

"I got you." Although his hands were far too big to unfasten a tiny clasp, he attempted to do so anyhow. Swallowing deeply, he fumbled with the small closure and zipper. "Fuck," he cursed, his focus fully immersed in the simple task. "This shit is harder than it looks."

It was ironic, really. Franklin was clever, and good at so many things—fighting bad guys, driving fast cars, mediating heated arguments—but unbuckling some pants? Now that was a real challenge for him. I slapped a palm over my mouth, stifling my laughter. He sighed, his hands shaking, a rosy blush staining his cheeks.

"You enjoyin' this shit, ain't you?" he asked.

"Kinda," I admitted. "I finally found something you suck at."

"Nah, this game is rigged, and you know it." He leaned close, his gaze grew intense, eyes smoldering. "Is there some kind of reward waitin' for me if I get these off?"

"Y-yeah…" I stammered, my stomach fluttering. "You'll get an A for effort."

"For real? I deserve an A plus and a gold star for all this shit."

"This is a C performance at best. I'm already being super generous to consider giving you an A, but a gold star too? That's pushing it."

"A'ight. I'll take what I can get." Finally, he unclasped the tiny button, and unzipped my shorts. "There we go," he smirked, seemingly satisfied with himself.

"Took you long enough," I teased, sprawling out on the couch.

"Sure, no need to thank me or anythin'. I live to serve yo' little ass, apparently."

"You do, at least for now, until my broken bones heal." I dropped my feet in his lap. "Massage please?" Franklin glanced at my toes and wrinkled his nose in protest. "What?" I frowned. "You don't like my feet?"

"Nah, I like them. They're all small and shit. I ain't got a fetish for feet, or nothin' like that, but yours are cute, girl."

"So, what's wrong then?"

Franklin clasped my foot, stroking me firmly, adding just enough pressure not to cause discomfort. He paid the most attention to my toes, pinching and tugging at them gently, loosening the stiffness in my joints. "Nothin' is wrong, it's just, uh…" He grew silent, fumbling for the right words. "I'm not used to this kind of shit. That's all."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, the cuddling, the emotions, the sentimental shit—the typical shit you _should_ do in a relationship—it doesn't come natural to me, you feel me? Romance ain't my strong suit. Never has been. The sappy shit makes me uncomfortable."

I shrugged. "You seem like quite the romantic to me."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You ain't gotta lie to me, girl. I know I'm not. The only thing I'm good at is arguin' over bullshit, and fightin' motherfuckers."

"Hey," I frowned. "You know that's not true. Yeah, you're great at fighting, you're an amazing protector, but you're so much more than that. At least to me."

He smiled sweetly, revealing his pearly white teeth. "There's somethin' 'bout you, Trace. It brings out the good in me."

I wanted to throw my arms around him, to tell him how much I was in love with him, and how proud I was that he stood up to my father, but something was holding me back. Despite everything we've been through, there was doubts lingering in the back of his mind. There weren't any signs of it now, but he's voiced his uncertainty regarding our relationship plenty of times. It was time we cleared the air and discussed it as adults.

"Can we talk about what you said at the hotel last night?" I asked.

"Yeah, hit me," Franklin muttered, grasping my other foot for a soothing massage. "I'm guessin' I said some shit I shouldn't have, huh?"

I frowned, my heart flopped over in my chest from the unpleasant memories. "You said we weren't going to work out anyway, that I was too delusional to see it. Did you really mean that?"

Franklin sighed heavily. I waited patiently for a response, but he remained quiet, a deep grimace distorted his handsome, well-defined face. His silence was worrying. What was thinking? Was he brooding again? I sat up pretzel style, reluctantly shifting my feet from his grasp, and stared into his eyes. They were shiny and glistening, the amber hues dazzling like stars in the night. He didn't have to say a word, I could tell he was troubled, head bowed, and shoulders drooped.

Franklin had come a long way compared to when we first met. He used to be cold, and distant. He used to be a hardened, bitter old soul tugging around a broken heart. But he's grown a lot since then. There were no more walls to break down, no more layers to pry through. Finally, he was stripped clean, his true emotions laid bare before me.

Now if only I could get him to talk to me. The silence was deafening.

"Say something," I murmured. "Be honest with me."

"My bad," Franklin said. "I had a lot of shit on my mind that night. I was happy I had you, girl, but scared too, of your pops findin' out. And the thought of him made me angry, 'cause he blames me for shit that's outta my control. I had a lot of guilt weighin' on me too, and…" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "That night was a clusterfuck of conflictin' emotions. I tried to bury it, but then yo' crazy ass slapped me, and I-I just… I exploded."

"It wouldn't be the first time you exploded on me," I feigned a smile. "And knowing you, it probably won't be the last."

"I know I ain't easy to deal with. I push you away, I make our relationship more complicated than it needs to be, 'cause I'm hardwired that way. Last time I got attached to somebody, I got blindsided. The relationship ended abruptly—the bitch broke up with me through a fuckin' email. I ain't tryna have some petty shit like that happen again. But I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily either."

"You have trust issues, I get it. But I'm not like her. I wouldn't do that to you. Not in a million years."

"Yeah? You sure 'bout that?" he asked with a smirk, teasing me.

"Positive." I crawled into his lap, my thighs straddled him. "I can see us getting married one day, you know?"

He gaped at me, caught off guard by my confession. "What? For real? You wanna deal with my bad attitude and temper tantrums for the rest of your life?"

"Totally. I can see us moving in together, annoying one another, having arguments and making up after—"

"What about them biracial babies? Does that happen before, or after we move in together?"

"We're gonna make babies before, and after we move in together. I want a bunch of them, like five or six, maybe ten if we're lucky."

Franklin snorted. "Ten kids my ass. We can barely take care of our damn selves, girl."

"That's because Madrazo is still in the picture. But once he's gone, we can do anything. We can have all the sex we want, and I can pop out babies like a factory."

"I ain't too sure how I feel 'bout that statement—"

"You should be flattered," I said, my voice flat. "I wouldn't make babies with just anyone. I had options, but I chose to be with you."

"I am flattered, Trace." He cupped my chin, and our eyes met. "Even though our lives are fucked up right now, I'm happy how things turned out. I'm glad I'm with you. I wouldn't change it for the world, baby."

I grinned wide, showering my boyfriend's strong, manly face with kisses. He beamed, happily enduring the trail of frenzied smooches I pressed to his skin, his throaty laughter filling the cabin. He laid a palm on my thigh, and I froze, my breath hitched. His touch was warm and tender, his grip confident and steady.

"I missed you," Franklin mumbled, threading his fingers through my hair. "While you were gone, in that coma—nothin' was the same. Felt like a piece of my life was missin'. It was… _scary._ "

Heat rose to my cheeks. "I'm sorry, Frank. But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

He clasped my hips, leaning close, his broad chest pressed to mine, and warm breath on my lips. My heartbeat quickened. Our eyes locked, the red, fluttering light of the flames enhancing his hazel gaze. His lips brushed over my cheek, making a slow, hot trail down my jawline to my neck. My back arched in anticipation. I wanted more, but it was clear he was going to take his time with me, his touch unhurried and deliberate.

Franklin's moderate advances wasn't much of a surprise. He wasn't known to be the impulsive type. He took things slow, carefully weighing his options before any decisions were made. Assuming his anger didn't get in the way, rushing into things wasn't his style. It was only natural for his attentive demeanor to persist in the bedroom too.

My head swam. I tried to keep my composure, but the delicate brush of his full lips over my neck sent me sprawling into a lust-induced daze. My rational thoughts were whisked away by a severe, aching desire below my stomach. I wanted him closer—to taste his lips against mine, to feel him inside me—I could imagine it all so clearly. But he was making me wait for it, and I could hardly stand it.

It was time to take initiative. I clutched his chin, tilted his head, and finally, our lips met. The world melted away. The space between us ignited, hot and passionate, my heart skipping beats, and my fingertips running through his short, curled strands. Despite how desperately I clung to him, I couldn't seem to bring him close enough to me, the caress of his soft lips tantalizingly addictive. I tasted him, our heavy breath mingling and merging as one, our mouths moving in perfect synergy.

Franklin's touch set off a match inside me, a deep heat spread throughout my core. I've been kissed before, but it didn't burn me alive. It didn't leave me yearning for more. His calloused hands, always so soothing and gentle, had a seemingly magical hold on me. One touch, and I was breathless, bending to his will, craving for affection.

I've been searching for this all my life. I've been starving for love, and now, I finally found it.

The kiss deepened, I nibbled at his lower lip, my tongue swirled over his. I clawed my fingers down his chest, feeling the hardness of his firm, stalwart muscles. His breathing had become erratic, the bulge between his legs stiffening. Skimming a finger along his sculpted abdomen through his shirt, my mind began to wonder…

 _How did he look completely naked?_

Gorgeous, I figured. From what I've seen, Franklin was a picture-perfect depiction of a man. Tall and dark, beautifully built muscles, a great butt—in joggers. I hadn't caught a good look of my boyfriend's unclothed booty yet. I tugged at his shirt, helping him out of it, so I could get a good view of his chiseled abdomen.

"You have an amazing body," I gushed. "How did you—"

He gripped my hips, and grinded on me, rubbing his hard cock against me through the confides of his pants. I gasped, the suddenness of his movement just as surprising as it was erotic. He slid a finger below the edge of my panties, touching the dampness underneath, a confident smirk forming on his face.

"Shit, I hardly touched you yet, girl," he said, "and you already wet for me?"

My cheeks heated. "Shut up."

He was hot and flustered, his sweaty, rich brown skin glistening with the primal need to mate. However, sensing my embarrassment, he buried the desire, if only for a moment, his arms wrapped around me in a tight, playful hug. "Mmm, mmm," he hummed, like he was singing a song, his voice carried a light tune. "My baby, my lady, is so _damn_ cute—"

"Oh my god," I snickered. "Please stop singing."

"You don't like my song, babe?" He snorted. "It's cool, I made that shit up on the fly. Want me to spit some bars instead?"

"Not really. What about your mixtape? Some hot fire would totally set the mood right now."

"For real? Why every black dude gotta have a mixtape?"

"Well, you said you could spit bars. That takes practice, doesn't it? You never thought about being a rapper? Like, at all?"

"Nah," his jaw clenched. "Before hustlin' and gangbangin' got in the way, I wanted to shoot hoops for a livin'."

I grinned mischievously. "So, you don't have a mixtape, then?"

"Sure, I do," he slipped a finger inside me, his rigid expression cracked as I desperately clenched around him. I reached for his joggers, dipping a hand inside. He fell heavily into my palm, hard as granite, and throbbing. I squeezed him, sizing his thick length with my hand, gradual and rough just how he liked it. A groan spilled from his lips, slightly pained, yet sensual.

His hand curled around mine, guiding my strokes. "Fuck…" He murmured, quivering beneath me.

I wanted to focus all my attention on pleasing him, but my insides were empty, and aching to be filled. I clutched his shoulder for support, and shifted onto my knees, hovering over the blunt tip of his cock.

Franklin gripped my waist, halting my movement. "Ay, slow down, babe. We ain't got no condoms. M-maybe we should stick to foreplay and shit—"

" _Frank_ ," I whimpered breathlessly, gazing at him with frantic longing. "I need this—I need you." He tensed as he listened to my desperate pleading. "Please, can't we do this without it? Just this one time?"

"Uh…" He hesitated, his brows furrowed. "Tracey…"

"Just once," I begged. "Pretty please? I'll love you forever!"

"All I gotta do is fuck you without rubber and you'll love me forever?" Franklin cackled, silly and unrestrained. "Shit, why you ain't tell me that sooner?"

My face flaming red, I rolled my eyes. "Take me seriously, jerk. I'm pouring my heart out to you and you don't even care—"

Franklin's hand fisted my panties, and with a firm yank, he tore them off. As he tossed my ripped underwear aside, I shivered, the sudden, violent action was undeniably barbaric, but extremely _sexy_. His power and raw masculinity had no bounds, and I loved it.

He rose his hips to push his pants down farther, his erection brushing against my thighs. "Take it slow," he ordered, leaning back against the sofa.

Trembling with anticipation, I captured his shaft. He winced as I positioned him between my legs, his face flushed red. I sunk down on him, carefully, my skin sweaty and tingling. I had grown more accustomed to his size in comparison to before, lessening the agony. But that didn't change the fact that I was petite. And he was like a giant. The initial discomfort of being penetrated by him still hurt like hell. I flinched, burying my face in the crook of his neck, hiding my pained expression.

"You good, baby?" he asked, rubbing my back in a delicate attempt to soothe me.

I kept my mouth shut and focused on enduring the pain. Franklin grew unnaturally still, mindful not to add any unnecessary pressure while I adjusted to his girth. The hurt gradually faded, bordering on pleasure, and sweet, exquisite pain. I lowered myself onto him until he was fully sheathed inside me. I let out a wrenching cry, he was so deep, his dick raw and pulsating, I wasn't sure if I could handle it. Not that my body gave a crap. It was clenching around him, gripping and squeezing, quivering on the brink of an orgasm.

"Oh my god," I muttered, feeling stretched and stuffed past the point of endurance. "You're so big."

His palm smoothing over my lower stomach, he stroked my clit in firm, skilled circles. A moan seeped through my lips, my hot core tightened, sucking him deeper. It felt so good. I gaped at him through heavy lidded eyes. He was half shadow in the flame illuminated room, his strong body slouched beautifully on the sofa, gazing up at me.

"Damn, you feel good," he whispered, his hips motionless and chest heaving as he patiently waited for me to ride him.

I rose, sliding up his length, the satiny smooth glide and friction of our bodies sent a jolt of lust through me. Craving his lips, I pressed my mouth to his, our tongues entwined. I kissed him as I surged my hips, riding the amazing circling of his finger, and his incredibly thick, throbbing cock.

My carnal desire took over, and soon, I was completely in charge. Franklin quaked, groaning against the seam of my lips, sweat dotting his forehead. The scent of our raging passion was heavy in the air. I was losing my mind, the savage need to ride him until he was milked dry was exhilarating, energizing me.

I arched my back, taking him in to the root. At this angle, his blunt crown hit the back of me, in one particularly tender spot. The rhythmic motion was overwhelming, the consistent, arousing rotation of his fingertip over my clit had sent me spiraling toward a release.

"F-Frank," I murmured, my voice cracked, fisting his short, sweat-damp hair.

Franklin captured my neck as I came, spasms of pleasure radiating through my core. My entire body trembled violently. Although I was emerged in pure, blissful ecstasy, sobbing his name repeatedly, I couldn't bear to look away from him. My gaze was fixed on his hard, beautifully sculpted muscles. Unblinking, he watched me writhe on top of him, shuddering and climaxing harder than I ever did before.

"Oh, fuck," he panted, his voice husky, and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He slammed his hips up into me, over and over, and I rolled my hips to meet his bruising thrusts the best I could. I was drained, my body floating on the ragged edge of sensation.

He was growing harder and thicker inside me, his head tipped back, and eyes filled with need. "Ah—fuck, right there, baby," he growled. "Shit…" I watched him unravel before me, losing control to his innate desire, his teeth clenched, and handsome face razed by the severe urgency to climax.

He came with a deep, animalistic grunt, the erotic sound rising from the pit of his throat through clenched teeth. He shook fiercely as an orgasm tore through his body, emptying himself inside me. For a short, fleeting moment, his features softened with a flash of sudden vulnerability.

I slumped against his toned, sweaty body, breathless and dazed, an explosion of endorphins sweeping through me. Franklin held me in a loose embrace, his breathing heavy. There was a glint of tenderness in his eyes, gratitude even, as he stared up at me. I smiled, my body limp and aching in all the right places. I never felt so relaxed—

 **Blrrrrrt!**

I cringed, my cheeks burning as I let the loudest fart ever rip through the air, in front of my _boyfriend_. Instead of disowning me for the gross slob that I was, he burst out laughing instead, and I wasn't sure which was worse. My life was over. If a dark hole could open and swallow me right now, that'd be great.

Franklin's grinning was so cute and contagious though, I found myself snickering along with him, despite my crippling embarrassment.

"Damn, girl," he snorted. "The fuck you been eatin'?"

"Um, l-lots of ice cream," I mumbled, lifting myself off him. He slid out of me, wet and throbbing, barely softening. He could probably go for a round two…

"It's all good. A little gas ain't never hurt nobody—"

The thud of heavy boots echoed from outside the cabin, followed by a stern knock on the wooden door. Heart pounding against my chest, I scrambled back into Franklin's arms, clinging to him.

 _There's someone outside!_ But who? Could it be Dad and the others? They couldn't have taken out Madrazo that fast… right?

* * *

 **Woot, another chapter down :D. Soo I hope you guys are enjoying the fluff ;). Leave a review if you are, lemme know what you like and don't like, it just MIGHT influence the direction of the story in regards to whether I add more fluffy, sexy stuff. This is a romance story after all, but I love adventurous plot lines too. What do you guys prefer? Are you liking the story so far? What do you think about the writing? Please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey y'all! So we're back with another update, right on time! ;)**

* * *

 ** _Knock. Knock._**

My heart thundered. We were tucked deep in the heart of the forest—who could've possibly found us? We were all alone, no one could help us here. We were screwed! A burst of adrenaline rushed through me, the ominous knocking awaking my intuition. As the pounding on the door intensified, my drowsiness vanished altogether. I jerked from the sofa and dropped to my knees, patting down the shadowy floor in a frantic search for my shorts. But I couldn't find them anywhere! My clothes were gone!

A sudden draft swept through the cabin. The fire dimmed, shrouding the space in darkness. The room began to spin, panic bubbling in my chest. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. Worst-case scenarios raced through my mind like a never-ending marathon. We were going to die, I could feel it.

It was all over.

 ** _Knock. Knock._**

"Frank!" I cried, huffing out breaths in huge gasps. Struggling to breathe, I flew into a tantrum, punching the dusty, hardwood floor. "I-I can't find my shorts! I-I can't—"

Unlike me, Franklin was already fully dressed. He clutched my quaking shoulders. " _Tracey_ ," he said, his grip tightened, and my joints ached at his rough touch. There was an assertive edge in his voice, cold and firm. " _Calm the fuck down."_ I froze, my heart skipping a beat at his sudden harsh tone.

 ** _Knock. Knock._**

He stood and hurried over to the duffel bag laid across the table. Rooting through the pack, he scooped up a pump-action shotgun, and loaded a shell into the firearm with a quick _click-clack_ of the pump. I cringed at the sight of the dangerous weapon. God, I'd do anything to have just one day of peace—no gunfights, no crazy people trying to murder us. Was that too much to ask for?

Nostrils flared, he advanced to the door, fearless as always. I found my shorts underneath the sofa, finally, and scrambled behind the cushions for cover.

The front door opened with a squeal, an eerie stillness filled the air. The chirp of the crickets grew silent, the breeze died, and the grass ceased to rustle.

A strange, dog-like bark rang out into the world, followed by panting. Lots of panting. I hazard a peek over the couch. Dave was at the door, still wearing his tan-colored suit, there was a tall, black doggy sitting at his feet.

"C-Chop?" Franklin fumbled, lowering his gun.

Chop's tail wagged erratically at the sight of Franklin. He lunged at his owner, knocking him over and covering his face in a barrage of wet kisses. My boyfriend cackled, his face brightening with joy as he wrestled with the beautiful beast.

"Franklin, I found your dog," Dave stated casually, smiling at the heartwarming sight of their reunion.

"Clearly," Franklin replied, giving Chop a few pats before regaining a stance. "I dropped little homie off with one of my niggas before I left LS with Lamar. How he end up with you?"

"The man dog sitting for you—JB Bradshaw was his name, correct?"

"Could be," Franklin narrowed his eyes. "Why? The fuck do you care? He ain't got shit to do with none of this—"

"He's dead," Dave said. "There was a break-in at his home this afternoon, him and his girlfriend, Tonya Wiggins, were executed at point blank range by an unknown assailant. It wasn't an isolated incident, we know he was targeted, most likely by the cartel. An eyewitness claimed they saw Chop fleeing the scene after the gunshots went off…"

Dave continued to ramble about his findings at the crime scene, but I tuned him out, my focus shifted to Franklin. The blood drained from his face as the bad news sunk in. His clenched fists shook, his teeth bared. He was fuming, his expression tight, and the veins in his muscles throbbing profusely.

He seemed like he was going to explode any moment now. Sensing the tension in the air, Dave took a tentative step back. "I should get going now," he said. "Sorry for your loss." He turned and disappeared into the night.

"Frank?" I stood and slowly approached him, laying a hand on his tense shoulder. The moment I touched him, he lashed out, his fist collided with the wall. **_Bam!_** The cabin trembled beneath his power, his knuckles forming a gaping hole in the wood.

I stumbled, my blood ran cold from his sudden outburst.

"Frank…" I mumbled. "You need to calm down, okay?"

Franklin glanced at me, but there was no tenderness in his eyes. No love, or compassion. Just… emptiness. I didn't recognize him. Consumed by rage, he was a completely different person.

 _He was scary._

Tears stung my eyes. "Frank? Are you okay?"

"No, I ain't fuckin' okay," he snapped, his muscles quaking. "This shit is all your fuckin' fault. If I didn't have to watch after yo' little needy ass all the goddamn time, I coulda been out there with Mike and T, handlin' my shit."

My chest hitched. There was a lump in my throat, painful and tight. " _Needy?_ " I whimpered. "I-I'm not needy. I just… I love you."

He gave a quick, disgusted snort. "Man, stop it with the soft shit, a'ight? Take a look around you. We hidin' in the middle of the nowhere, in this bitch ass cabin—shit, I rather be in the hood with the crackheads and thugs. At least if niggas come through, I'd see that shit comin'. I can't see a motherfuckin' thing out here, it's pitch black, all these damn bugs and shit. Fuck…"

He paced about the room with clenched fists. "All the work I put in to get out the hood, and look where the fuck love got me? I'm back in the fuckin' gutter. If it weren't for _you_ , I coulda been makin' moves on Madrazo from the very beginning. I coulda blazed that motherfucker a long time ago, and my homies would still be breathin'. If I didn't have _you_ holdin' me back from gettin' shit done…"

He continued to rant and rave, but all I could see was red, his voice faded into incoherent babbling. _How dare he?_ Heat licked my skin. "Screw you!" I blurted, marching up to him. "I don't effing need you. If you wanna go, then go! Leave! I don't care anymore, you fat asswipe. You'd end up eating all the food anyway."

"I might as well, 'cause yo' flat ass ain't gonna need it—" Chop barked at Franklin, his paws slapped against the wood floor for our attention. Franklin shot a glare at his canine. "Stay out of this, little homie. This shit ain't got nothin' to do with you."

Chop began to snarl.

Franklin winced, raising his brows. "I ain't no hypocrite, Chop! She can talk shit 'bout my weight, but I can't talk shit 'bout hers?"

"Are you seriously talking to a dog right now?" I rolled my eyes. "You are so weird."

Franklin glanced at me. "The fuck is up with the fat shaming anyway? Why you gotta feed into biased cultural norms and make a nigga feel insecure, girl?"

"Oh, so you're the victim now? You're such a self-centered asshole. You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"Fuck you," he spat.

"No, fuck you! You're the biggest asshole in the entire universe, and I hate you!" I brushed past him, storming for the door. He cut me off, his giant frame blocking my path. I shoved him the hardest I could, but he wouldn't budge, his hard body was as sturdy as a boulder. So I pounded my fist against his chest in a frenzy. "Move, you big, stupid jerk. I should have never had sex with you, you're such a dick—"

Franklin captured my wrist, and with a firm wrench, he pinned me against the wall. My heart lurched from his roughness, my breath hitched in my throat. We were so close, nose to nose, his heavy, heaving breaths on my lips.

"You realize only ten minutes ago, you were beggin' for this dick, right?" he asked, his voice low, confident. "You don't want me to fuck you anymore, baby?"

"I-I…" Cheeks flaming, my glossy eyes fell to my feet. There was an edge in his tone, the vulgar boldness of his words sent a shiver down my spine. I flushed, the warmth of his hard body, and the musky, masculine scent of skin was intoxicating. Once his lips grazed mine, my resistance crumbled completely, all previous thought halted in their tracks. I couldn't remember why we were fighting, and I didn't care.

Franklin's touch was electrifying, my skin tingled with every brush of his lips. His tongue made a slow descent to the nape of my neck. He sucked and savored the taste of me, his grip firm on my wrist, restricting my movement. He was in complete control, and all I could do was writhe beneath his strong body, melting into his skilled touch, yearning for more.

There was a twinkle of hunger in his searing gaze—a dangerous, fevered desire begging to be staked. I trembled, the look in his eyes both terrifying and exciting. No one's ever lusted for me like this before, and I've done nothing but whimper helplessly as he dominated me. He clutched my shorts, tugging and tearing at them until they hit the floor. I gasped, my fingers raked through his hair as I planted small kisses along his sharp jawline.

He clasped my thighs and swept me off my feet, quick and effortlessly. I clung to him, clenching his broad shoulder for support, my legs wrapped around his waist. His cock throbbed and twitched with anticipation as he grinded against my bare skin, my wetness and the slick tip of his erection left behind a damp patch in his joggers. He sighed deeply, sweat dampening his neat hairline, and trickling down his brow.

The teasing friction was agonizingly amazing, heat seared through me. But I wanted more. The explosive, riveting sensation of him filling me up and fucking me senseless—I had to feel it again. I _needed_ it. My craving intensified with every second that passed, and my shyness was quickly overpowered by the instinctual desire to orgasm.

"Frank, can you please j-just—"

He captured my neck, silencing me. I whimpered helplessly, his grip on my throat was firmer than usual, but not painful. He applied just enough pressure to assert his dominance over me. He had the power here, the tenderness he displayed in the past was long gone now. Not that I minded, I liked it rough. But the sudden change in his demeanor was worrying. Was he punishing me for the argument we had earlier?

I didn't dwell on the issue for long, once Franklin had dipped a hand into his pants to free himself, all of my preconceived worries had faded instantly. My only concern was his powerful body, and what he was going to do to mine. He stroked himself, his hand slowly pumped the long, hard length of his cock. Pinned down by him, I merely watched, marveling at his rugged beauty, listening intently to his tight, throaty groans. His face was flushed with lust, a deep blush had rose from his collarbone up to his cheeks, staining his deep brown skin hues of red.

 _He was such an effing tease._

"You want me to fuck you?" Franklin asked, his sweltering stare burned into me.

My composure cracked, his words alone spurned my desire. "Please," I begged shamelessly. "I need you, Frank. Give it to me—"

He slammed into me, sinking balls-deep with one hard, relentless thrust. I let out an uneven gasp. He was huge, hot and pulsating. I had no idea being dominated by him could be so arousing. I was melting, already nearing the threshold of an orgasm with a single skillful stroke.

"Oh god," I quaked, clamping around him, loving the sensation of him inside me, his cock stuffing my core into a warm, wonderful fullness.

"Goddamn," Franklin hissed between clenched teeth, his bulging muscles tensed. He pulled out to the tip, a low groan pushed through his lips. His sculpted abs stiffened, and he rammed into me, fucking me hard, nailing my hips to the wall with frenzied, savage pounds.

Consumed by raging pleasure, my cries filled the cabin, every push and shove of his massive body against mine sending me closer and closer to the edge. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, heat shimmering from his moist skin, the beads of sweat dripping from his muscles mingling with mine. He nipped at my throat as he snapped his hips rhythmically, stroking my aching core. A pleased murmur spilled from my mouth, the tip of his cock was hitting the most raw, sensitive spot, and I loved it.

He planted a hot trail of kisses up my neck. His cheek nuzzling mine, he whispered dirty words into my ear. "Shit, that pussy tight. Feels so good… you finna come for me? I wanna feel it… I ain't gon' stop fucking you 'til you come for me, girl."

I was drowning in sensation; his filthy words and fierce lunges ignited an orgasm inside me. He cupped my behind, forcefully jerking my hips to meet his thrusts as I reached my peak. I cried his name, overwhelmed by the jolts of pleasure sweeping through me, my trembling legs clenched tight around his pumping hips.

"Fuck…" He cursed, still pounding into me, my sensitive, drained body entirely at his mercy. His grip on my rear tightened, rough and bruising. He had lost control, his eyes wild and dilated with pleasure. He drove his thick cock into me over and over, his endurance seemingly never-ending. I was on the verge of climaxing again, my tiny body squirming weakly beneath him.

He abruptly pulled out, spun around and carried me across the room. He lowered my weight onto the table and flipped me over onto my knees, my behind in the air. I swallowed hard, the vulnerable, experimental position had me on edge, but I made no attempt to thwart him. I kept still, as rigid as a statue, desperately awaiting the onslaught he was about to unleash inside me.

I've never felt so possessed, so subjugated. In that very moment, he owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me, and I wouldn't stop him.

Franklin clutched a fistful of my hair, and shoved forward, burying himself deep inside me. His brutal thrusts started up again. From this angle, he screwed me harder, faster, the rough, rhythmic motion felt so painfully good, I was on the brink of tears. The sex was unbelievably intense, my screams must've roused every animal in the forest for miles.

"Frank," I sobbed, tears running down my cheeks from the overwhelming mixture of pain and ecstasy. "I'm gonna… oh my god, I'm gonna come…"

" _Come_ ," he ordered, his voice drawling and raspy.

I came, my nails digging into the table, an orgasm ripped through me in a heated wave of unbridled bliss. Franklin tipped his head back, his toned body shuddering violently. "Shit, o-oh, fuck," he snapped, his hard stomach pressed against my back, spurting his hot load inside me.

My body tingled pleasantly as he towered over me, leaning on his knuckles to keep himself afloat, his clenched fists resting beside my head. Sweat seeped from his broad chest, descending the chiseled planes of his abdomen onto me, cooling my flustered skin. Remarkably, he was still semi-hard despite his shortness of breath. Although I was dazed and utterly spent, I enjoyed the feeling of being filled by him, our bodies still connected in spite of our sated desire.

The feeling wasn't mutual, however. Without a word, Franklin eased himself apart and drifted away, leaving me alone, empty. I shivered, a cold chill swept over me. My eyes darted to him in concern. He sagged onto the sofa, his elbow propped on the armrest, a shaky hand pressed to his forehead. A blank expression on his face, he stared at the dwindling fire through glossy eyes.

My heart sank to my feet. It hurt to see him like this, especially after the intimacy we shared.

I gravitated to his side, snuggling close. "Are you okay?" I asked.

He didn't respond, his head bowed, relapsing into a brooding temperament. Clearly, he didn't want to talk.

My heart ached. Now that the incredible sex was over, and I could think straight, I remembered the bad news regarding his friends. Crap, no wonder he's moping.

Whenever he was hurting, I wanted to be the person he confided in. Why did he always shut me out? Why did I always have to pry him for answers all the time? It wasn't fair to be upset at Franklin, given the circumstances, but I couldn't help it. I felt… used. Disposable. Like a cheap toy he could just push aside when he was done with it.

The argument we had earlier… Franklin blamed me for the death of his friends—he blamed me for everything. Maybe he was right. I was holding him back from facing Madrazo. If I wasn't in the picture, he would had been able to help Dad and Uncle T take him out from the beginning. A lot of deaths could've been prevented.

Franklin could've made a real difference if he wasn't so busy watching after me all the time. I was a burden—an annoying, needy burden.

I scooted to the other side of the sofa, leaving him to silently mull over his loss. Chop leapt onto the cushions and curled up between us, his furry head resting on my thigh. The world didn't seem so bleak with Chop around, at least.

* * *

I woke up at dawn to watch the sunset. The early morning sun shone like pure gold in the sky, threads of sunlight spilling into the forest and stirring the wildlife. A symphony of birdsong descended over the land.

Wrapped tight in a blanket, I rested on a bed of white daisies a short distance from the cabin. Bumblebees and butterflies fluttered about the grass freely, brushing their tiny feet across the flower pedals. The sweet fragrance of berries and daisies danced on my nostrils. Time drifted on by as I listened to the grass rustle in the gentle breeze.

I stared at the deep blue, cloudless sky, and sighed. It was hard to enjoy the beautiful surroundings after what happened last night between Franklin and I. We both needed space to calm down, Franklin especially. I wasn't mad at him necessarily, he had every right to be upset after hearing the news about his friends. But I wasn't happy with the way he handled it. The insults he spat, and the way he treated me after our rough, heated love affair was really bugging me.

The arguing, the rough sex, the brooding—it was too much to wrap my head around. Franklin was so complicated. One second, he hated me, the next, he loved me.

Our relationship was a hurricane of unpredictable emotions. In the calm of the storm, things were great, but it was only a matter of time before the wind began to brew, tearing us apart, shredding our love asunder. We'd always find our way back to one another, but it was exhausting all the same.

After the long day I had yesterday, I needed time to recuperate. The calming serenity of the great outdoors was perfect way to recover.

I squatted under the shade of a tree, taking shelter from the heat. Now that the sun's rays weren't beating down on my face, it was easier to get comfortable. Unable to stifle a yawn, I stretched my limbs over the soft, silky flowers, and closed my eyes.

I awoke to soft sheets thrown over me, and a gentle breeze flowing through my hair. Dazed from the lingering remnants of a dream, I rubbed my knuckles into my eyes, and turned over. I flinched at the sight of Franklin. He sat in the grass, perched against the tree, with a picnic basket lying beside him.

"Mornin'," he greeted, smiling warmly.

"M-morning," I mumbled, scooting away from him. I spotted Chop flopping around in the grass from the corner of my eye.

Franklin toyed with a stalk of grass between his fingers as he spoke. "How long you been out here?"

"Since the crack of dawn."

"Yeah?" He glanced at me anxiously. "You good, Trace?"

"I'm fine. We both needed space," I said firmly, my gaze dropped to my lap.

"Nah, I didn't need no space, not from you—"

"Well, I needed space from you."

Franklin took my hand. I glanced at his knuckles. There were small splinters embedded in his skin, probably from the gaping dent he put in the wall. I winced, shifting away from him.

He frowned, his gaze softening. "Baby, what's wrong? You mad at me?"

I sighed, too mentally and physically exhausted to explain myself. My gaze averted to the picnic basket. "Is there food in there?"

"Uh, yeah. I got you." He opened the basket and handed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I devoured it in seconds, savoring the sweet and salty taste.

"Can I have another?" I asked with my mouth full. "Please?"

He grinned, handing me the entire basket. "You ain't gotta beg, girl. Here, you can have all of it."

I rummaged through the basket, claiming a bottled water and two more sandwiches. As I munched on my food, I stole a glance at Franklin. He smiled, his remarkably hazel eyes had intensified, sparkling beautifully beneath the morning sun. I flushed, mesmerized by the glistening amber hues dancing in his gaze. It would had been so easy to fall at his feet. But not this time. For once, I wasn't going to be a weak, pathetic ball of need.

"You threw a tantrum last night," Franklin chuckled. "Punchin' the floor and shit—"

"And you punched a wall," I rolled my eyes. "What's your point?"

"I'm just sayin', you and I ain't so different. We both got problems keepin' our cool."

"Hah!" I threw my head back and laughed. "I'm nothing like you. You treat me like shit, I treat you like a king."

He stared at me, his forehead scrunched up. "What you mean, babe?"

" _Don't_ play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You feisty as a motherfucker today, huh?" He leaned in, dabbing away the peanut butter on the corner of my mouth. His touch was gentle, hesitant. "Look, I wasn't myself last night, a'ight? I'm sorry."

I sighed, turning away from him, hugging my knees to my chest. I wasn't going to give into him that easy.

Franklin gravitated close. I shivered as his honed body pressed against mine, his strong arms embraced me from behind. "Is this 'bout the sex we had?" he asked, the sweet tenderness in his voice brought a smile to my face. "Did I hurt you, baby? Was I too rough?"

"No," I mumbled. "The sex was nice."

"You sure? 'Cause you can tell me if I'm bein' too rough with you, or if you want me to stop," he threaded his fingers through my hair. "Just say the word, and I'll fall back. I got carried away last night, but I promise that shit won't happen again. Maybe we need to make a safe word—"

"No, no…" I sat up, pulling away from his warmth. His bitter words from our argument last night kept replaying in my head. _'This is all your fuckin' fault', 'if it weren't for you, I coulda been makin' moves on Madrazo from the very beginning…'_

Tears stung my eyes, and I sniffle, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "I-I think we need to talk, Frank. Like, about our relationship…"

He winced. "Trace? What's goin' on in that fine ass head of yours? You sound like you 'bout to ditch my ass or some shit. I know I ain't easy to deal with sometimes, but damn, did a nigga really fuck up that bad?"

I shrugged. "You are so moody—you're the moodiest person I've ever met, besides Uncle T of course, but that's not what this is about, either."

"Baby, I can change—"

"No, you can't. I'm done trying to break down your walls, and constantly fighting with you. You won't effing change. You'll always be the grumpy asshole that you are and I just have to accept that." I sighed. "What if Dad was right? Maybe we aren't good for one another."

Franklin grimaced, his muscles tensed, the color drained from his face. "Tracey, whatever the fuck this is, we can work past it, girl," he said flatly. "D-don't," he swallowed, his voice cracked with sour emotion. "Don't give up on me."

A tight fist constricts around my heart from his dejected tone. It pained me to witness him so upset, and it hurt even worse knowing I was the reason for it. He had gone through so much already. I'd do anything to take him in my arms and ease his heartache, but I couldn't. I wasn't gonna make him stay with me any longer. I was tired of being selfish. I was tired of being dead weight.

It was a waste of his strength and talent hiding away in the forest with me.

"I-I'm not gonna hold you back anymore," I choked out between a sob. "You are a lot of things, Frank, but a coward isn't one of them. You are capable of so much more than this. Y-you should go and meet up with the others. You should be out there fighting with them—"

"W-what?" Brows furrowed, his eyes widened. "Nah, fuck that. I ain't leavin' you. I ain't goin' nowhere."

I scrambled to a stance. "If you won't leave, then I will."

Franklin sprang up. His arm locked around my waist, and with a gentle tug, he drew me back in, lifting me off my feet. "Where you think you goin'?" he asked, planting big, ticklish kisses along my neck. "You think I'ma let you leave me that easy?"

"Stop!" I shouted, his playful touch forcing a giggle out of me. "Let me go, you jerk!"

Grinning, he set me down on a bed of flowers, his warm body stretched out on top of me. "I ain't gonna let you go, Trace," he nuzzled my nose, smiling a flash of white. "Fuck Madrazo, fuck everythin'—I'm in love with you, girl. _You're mine."_

I laid a hand on his chest, feeling its thudding rhythm. How could I turn him away when he was so anxious and impassioned? Maybe I could put the issues between us aside, at least for now. I didn't have the strength to argue anymore.

"I love you too," I said, my gaze riveted to his strikingly beautiful face.

"A'ight, good," he kissed my lips. "So stop bein' so damn dramatic, and stay yo' ass here with me."

"I dunno," I teased, smiling wide. "What's in it for me?"

"Well…" His gaze scanned over the glorious, sun-dappled expanse of grass, and colorful wildflowers. "You ever made love outdoors, in a field of daisies?"

"What?" My heart raced, a deep heat rose inside me. "No. Have you?"

"Nah," a mischievous smirk tugged at his full lips. "There's a first time for everythin', though. You down? Promise I'll be gentle."

I shivered, the fine hairs standing on end. Things were about to get interesting.

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the fluffy sexy stuff! (And the arguing too, I hope) Please leave a review if you're enjoying the story so far, I'd like to know what you guys think about Tracey's and Frank's crazy love affair. Oh! We'll be diving back into the main plot next chapter, so I hope you guys will be ready for that next week. Thanks for reading :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey guys! I'm back with an update. No time to waste, lets read!**

* * *

A beacon of light beamed through the cabin's warped window panes, the soft, glowing kiss of the morning sun roused me from my slumber. I yawned, slowly opening my eyes to greet the daylight. My body was still pleasantly aching from the long night of passionate love making Franklin and I had. Sex with him was incredible—the best I've ever had with anyone. He knew what he was doing, he could make me climax so effortlessly. The way he made me feel physically… it was amazing.

But emotionally? Far from amazing. He's been distant lately, cold and aloof, his mind was somewhere far away and blocked off. And for the life of me, I couldn't find a way in. I needed to know what was going on in his head. But he was good at deflecting my questions. It was driving me crazy.

Chop lying at his feet, Franklin sat at the crude table by the window. There were various guns and first aid supplies sprawled before him. With a silver revolver in hand, he casually loaded bullets into the cylinder.

"What's going on?" I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

"Nothin'," he replied.

"Really? What's up with the guns?"

He shrugged. "Never know, we might need it."

"Why?"

"Girl, ain't nothin' wrong with bein' prepared. If shit goes down, I'ma be ready for it." He glanced at me. "How'd you sleep?"

I rolled my eyes. "What do you care?"

Franklin sighed and rose to his feet. "I'm finna go take a walk, get some fresh air." He set the revolver aside, and swept up a shotgun, slinging its rubberized strap over his shoulder. "You comin'?"

I shrugged. "Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," he offered me his hand. "I ain't gonna leave you here by yourself."

The thought of going outside was tempting, there was so much nature just waiting to be explored. I stood, refusing his hand. "Whatever, I'll go with you, but not because I'm scared of being alone, or anything. I can take care of myself, you know."

"You sure 'bout that?" Franklin smirked, his gaze drifted to my hips. I looked down and flinched. I didn't have any shorts on…

A deep heat rose inside me. But I rejected the temptation, I wasn't gonna give myself to him again. We had problems to address, things we needed to talk through. "Can you…" I swallowed, my voice a soft whisper. "Help me find my shorts?"

"Awh shit, do I have to?" He gravitated close, his hand slipped between my thighs, stroking me. "I think you look better without them, baby."

" _Frank_ ," I snapped, capturing his wrist. I was seriously not in the mood. "My shorts. Please."

He frowned at my harsh tone and turned away, scooping up my shorts from behind the sofa. He returned to me, and with a light push, I fell back onto the sofa's plush cushions.

"Hold still," he ordered, kneeling before me. He helped me into my shorts, pulling them up to my waist and buttoning them. He gathered my sandals next, gently slipping them onto my feet. I flushed, a wave of embarrassment hit me hard. Did he find me to be so helpless and pathetic that I couldn't even dress myself on my own?

"You didn't have to do that," I stood, awkwardly staring at my feet.

"I wanted to." He cupped my chin, tilting my head, our gazes locked. "The fuck am I here for if I ain't helpin' you?"

"You're here because I begged you to stay with me," I stated. "If not, you'd be off somewhere fighting Madrazo with Dad and Uncle T, having the time of your life murdering people or whatever the heck you guys do when you're together—"

"Trace," he clutched my arm. "It ain't like that."

"Stop pretending like you want to be here." I sighed, brushing past him. I strode through the cabin door into the great outdoors, Franklin followed at my heels.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asked, stumbling down the porch steps after me. "What's wrong with you, girl?"

"I know what you're thinking. You think I'm clingy and pathetic. You think I need you."

"Baby, chill." He gazed at me and took my hand. "It's a'ight if you need me," he said, his voice softening. "'Cause I need you too."

Not meeting his eyes, I snapped at him. "Bullcrap. The only thing you need me for is sex—"

"The fuck?" Franklin staggered back, his brows raised. "For real? After everythin' a motherfucker done for you—that's how you feel?"

"Can you blame me? Frank, you don't talk to me. You never tell me how you feel. You always block me out, you make it so hard to get close to you."

Sighing loudly, he turned away without a word, storming toward the muddy footpath tucked between the tall trees. _So typical of him._ He was distancing himself as usual, walking away, shutting me out instead of talking things through. Like my feelings didn't matter at all. There was an aching pang in my chest. Was I not worth the time? Why wouldn't he just talk to me?

Franklin's stride came to an abrupt halt, and he glanced at me. "You comin' or not?"

"Come with you?" I rolled my eyes. "Why would I? Seems to me you don't want company."

"I do," he muttered, reaching a hand out to me. "C'mere, come chill with me."

I glanced at the cabin. Despite the tension between my boyfriend and I, I didn't want to stay here all by myself. I took his side, and casually, we strolled along the footpath, my arms crossed over my chest, and his hands tucked deep within his pockets.

A rough wind whipped against my hair and flung leaves across the muddy trail. Sunlight dappled my skin without warmth; the air carried the scent of dry leaves and bitterly cold tree bark. I shivered. What's up with the crappy weather? I listened closely for the birdsong, and the squirrels, but there was nothing but emptiness—all the wildlife chased away by the vigorous gusts of wind.

Maybe today was a bad day for a morning stroll.

"Shit, I could really use a blunt right now," Franklin muttered, staring blankly ahead. "Can't remember the last time I rolled up."

"It's only been a few days," I said.

"That's a long ass time for me. I think I'm havin' withdrawals and shit."

I shrugged half-heartedly. "Assuming you don't have some kind of super weird personality disorder—the weed withdrawal might explain your stupid, angry mood swings."

"Nah, you just get on my motherfuckin' nerves, girl," he said jokingly, a playful smirk tugged at his lips. "Always naggin' me 'bout bullshit."

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't in the mood for jokes. "You're an irritable asshole whether I nag you or not."

He scoffed. "No matter what I do for you, it ain't enough. What you want from me, babe? For real, what you tryna get out of this relationship?"

" _Love_ ," I blurted. "I want your love, Frank. And for you to be less of an asshole. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Nah, it ain't. You know how I feel 'bout you, Trace—"

My hands bunched into fists, I shouted, "No, I don't! I'm not psychic, I have no idea how you feel. Your friends are dead, and I know it's hurting you, but instead of talking about it, you just block me out! I'm your girlfriend! Why won't you open up to me?"

Franklin stilled, his feet rooted in the mud. "This shit ain't easy for me, babe. I don't do well with the emotional, sappy shit. You knew what type of nigga I was from the jump, don't act so fuckin' surprised now." He sighed. "I am who I am, you feel me? If that ain't good enough for you…"

I glanced at him, my heart squeezed. "You said you would change for me," I murmured, blinking back tears. "T-that you'd be better. You've been lying to me this entire time, haven't you?"

"T-Trace…" Franklin stuttered, a pained grimace distorted his rugged face. "I wanna be the man you need. I'm tryin'—"

"Trying isn't good enough," I sniffed. "You have no idea how cold and cruel you can be. That alone is hard enough to deal with, but I'm doing my best. I can't handle you completely shutting me out, too. If you don't learn to open up to me, our relationship isn't going to last. It's just too much…"

"Don't cry, baby. I'm sorry." He reached a hand out to me, but I stepped back. It was going to take more than an apology to fix the rift between us. He shook his head and shoved his fists back into his pockets. "You know what? It's cool, maybe yo' pops really was right after all," he spat, scowling. "I ain't no good for you. Once this bitch ass bullshit with Madrazo is over and done with, we can go our separate ways, a'ight? No more family drama, no more dealin' with my temperamental ass no more—you finna be better off that way."

My heartbeat came to a slow as his words sunk in. Was he breaking up with me? Did he not love me anymore? My empty stomach hardened, my head swirled with half-formed regret and guilt. It was hard to breathe, the conversation we had replayed in my head, haunting me, tormenting me. I didn't want him to go, not after everything we've been through…

 _But maybe it was for the best._ He's hurt me so many times, he couldn't help his anger. He was a man who had been through too much, too young. And now, he was hard-boiled and callous, his heart so jaded, it was broken beyond repair. I was stupid to think I could mend the damage and heal him.

Our relationship wasn't going to work. It was a hopeless waste of time trying to fight for a love that wasn't meant to last.

I took in a deep breath, struggling to calm my trembling body. A sudden billow of smoke burned my nostrils. It was strong, the source of the pungent scent had to be nearby. I cringed. "Frank, do you smell that?"

"Yeah, smells like we ain't alone in this motherfucker," Franklin angled his eyes off the footpath, toward the sooty smell. "I'ma check it out. Take yo' ass back to the cabin."

He advanced, confident and courageous as usual, into the foggy, unbridled forest. I stamped after him. "Hey! You shouldn't go off the trail. This forest is huge. How are you going to find your way back?"

His jaw clenched tight, he responded with a shrug. He wasn't even fazed by the thought of getting lost. Once his mind was set on something, there was no changing it.

"What if it's a natural forest fire?" I asked.

"Nah," he replied. "If there was a forest fire nearby, we'd know by now. That shit spreads fast."

I swallowed. The smoke had to be man-made, but I didn't want to believe it. "Well, I'm coming with you."

He scoffed. "Yeah? For what?"

"I dunno. To help you stop the bad guys?"

"I got all the help I need right here." He drew his shotgun. "And let's be real, if some shit pops off, you only finna slow me down."

"Whatever, I can totally keep up with you. I don't even need my crutches to walk anymore."

He froze, glaring at me. "Girl, if somethin' happens to you, Michael is gon' kill me. Go back—"

" _No_ ," I tilted my chin defiantly, struggling to minimize the height difference between us. Sometimes he made me feel so small, so insignificant. But no matter how much I tilted my chin, or stood on the tip of my toes, it was still painfully obvious that he was eight inches taller than me.

" _Yes,"_ he argued, his glare hardened, piercing through me.

But I wouldn't stand down. "No. I'm not leaving."

"Goddamn…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly agitated, and brushed past me. "You are stubborn as fuck, you know that?"

"You're like, ten times more stubborn than I am—"

"If you rollin' with me, shut up and stay close," he ordered gruffly. "And try not to fuck shit up."

I wanted to reach out and slap the piss out of his annoyingly handsome face, but now wasn't the time, considering the potential danger lurking ahead. Also, he was irritable, moreso than usual. If I slapped him, I was worried he might hit me back. I winced at the thought of it. _Ouch_.

We trekked through the dirt and leaves for quite some time, the burning scent intensifying more and more with every step. The footpath was long gone now, finding our way back wasn't going to be easy. The leafy canopies above seemed to grow thicker, blocking out the sun, casting shadows around us. Wind howled between the twisted trunks of the surrounding trees, the lingering trace of wood rot mingling with the smoke.

There was a gap up ahead; a narrow dirt road dividing the forest in two. Finally, we had found the source of the smoke—a black sedan. It was totaled, the front bumper was pinned against a tree, and the windshield was shattered to pieces. A fist of thick, gray fumes billowed from the hood.

"Help!" a cry of agony pierced the cold air. There was a helpless man crawling through the dirt beside the car, his black tailored suit bloody and battered. He had a white wired earpiece trailing up from his collar, and dark shades concealing his eyes. Was he FIB? "Somebody help me, dammit!"

I gasped. "Someone had an accident! He needs our help!" Without thinking, I took off toward to the injured man. Franklin captured my wrist and snatched me back.

"Hold up," he crouched low behind a tree, pulling me down with him. Silently, he studied our surroundings, warily gazing side to side. I stared at him quizzically, my heart pounding against my chest. Flashbacks of the horrible car accident Franklin and I survived rushed through my mind. I couldn't just sit here and watch the guy suffer like I did. I knew how painful it was, how hopeless he felt. What the heck were we waiting for?

I had to do something, but Franklin's grip on my wrist was so tight, it hurt.

Loud, hateful snickering echoed throughout the forest. A hooded man stepped out from between the trees, dressed from head to toe in camouflage, wielding a crossbow with a quiver of bolts strapped to his back. He was a hunter, there were rabbit pelts dangling from his belt. He stood over the injured man, an evil smirk plastered across his ghostly pale face.

"Where are they?" the hooded hunter asked, his voice ominously craggy and rough.

"My leg's broken," the injured man cried, tears flowing down his face. "I-I need a hospital—"

"I won't ask you again," the hooded hunter casually loaded a bolt into his crossbow. "Where are they?"

"W-who?"

"Seriously? You're FIB, you're protecting them."

My body stiffened. _He was looking for us!_

"Talk," the hooded hunter demanded, pointing his weapon at the injured man. "Or I'll paint the ground with your brains. Where's the big black dude and the dumb blonde?"

I twitched, his insult regarding my intelligence set off a match inside me. "Asshole!" I sprung out into the open, freeing myself from Franklin's grasp, and stabbed a finger at the hooded hunter. "Who are you calling dumb—"

The hooded hunter glanced at me. Without hesitation, he rose his crossbow, and took the shot. I yelped, frozen like a target dummy waiting to be pierced. Franklin lunged in front of me, the bolt penetrated his broad shoulder, seeping deep into his flesh. He stumbled back, a groan of agony pushed through his lips.

I shuddered, my heart sinking. _Holy effing crap!_ He shot my boyfriend!

Despite the blood gushing from his wound, Franklin remained on his feet, shrugging off the pain. Teeth clenched, he raised his shotgun, and fired back at the hooded hunter. **_Bang!_** He dipped behind the wrecked sedan, evading the wide spray of bullets. Poking his hooded head out of cover, he took another shot at us, the bolt missing Franklin's skull by mere inches.

"I'm gonna kill you!" the hooded hunter threatened, crouching behind cover yet again. "Madrazo has a price on your head, and I'm here to collect!"

Franklin stalked toward the car fearlessly. With every _click-clack_ of his shotgun, he filled the metal exterior with bullet holes. "Kill me then, motherfucker," he taunted. "I don't give a fuck!"

As the heated gunfight commenced, I spotted the glimmer of a scope from the corner of my eye. My knees locked, my stomach turning to ice. "Don't shoot," I begged, locking eyes with another crossbow-wielding hunter prowling through the grass. Jesus, how many of them were there? His gloved finger settled on the trigger. I cried out, my eyes bulging from the sockets.

I was screwed!

A black furry creature leapt out from the trees, sudden and lightning fast, tackling the hunter to the ground. It was Chop! _Yes!_ He sunk his teeth into the hunter's arm, ripping and tearing into his flesh.

Franklin bumped into me, seizing my hand. "Move!"

He burst into a sprint, dragging me behind him. Twigs and dry leaves snagged at my feet as I ran. I hazard a glance behind me. My eyes widened. There were bad guys chasing after us! Crossbow bolts zipped our way, colliding with the trees, barely missing us. They were laughing, grinning like madmen, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. My heart slammed against my chest, adrenaline almost bursting through my skin.

I was running out of breath, my frantic, panicked breathing made my lungs burn. Struggling to keep up a brisk pace, I stepped on a branch and tripped, tumbling hard to the ground.

"Tracey!" Franklin broke his sprint, whirled around, and yanked me back to my feet. We resumed running again.

But I couldn't take much more of this. I thought we were safe here! Where did all these maniacs come from? How did they find us? What—

There was an abrupt **_snap_**. Our movement faltered. A rope hidden beneath pile of leaves captured Franklin's ankles, instantly swooping him into the air. Helplessly, he hung upside-down by a sturdy tree branch, his shotgun slipped from his fingers. It was a snare trap!

"Shit!" he cursed, weaving through the air, gazing wide-eyed at the rope ensnaring his ankles.

"Franklin," I shouted hysterically, clinging to him, my gaze locked on the hunters closing in on us—their prey. For the life of me, I couldn't muster the cowardice to leave him. I had no idea what to do. We were going to die! No one could save us out here. It was all over—

"The shotty," Franklin pointed at the shotgun lying on the ground. "Grab that shit!"

I scrambled for the gun, sweeping the heavy metal into my arms right in the nick of time, just as the small gang of hunters reached us. They circled around us at a distance, wary of the deadly weapon within my grasp. I had no idea how to use it, but little did they know, I was a great actor.

"Stay back, you dirty, godless bastards!" I screamed, holding them at gunpoint. "Or I'll shoot your puny dicks off!"

"A little girl like you don't look the type to murder somebody," one of the hunters muttered, taking a step forward. "You won't shoot our dicks off—you don't got the guts."

I pulled at the sliding mechanism beneath the gun's barrel. I had no idea what it did exactly, but the dramatic _click-clack_ noise made him stumble back. Drunk on my newfound power, I grinned mischievously. It felt good to finally be in control. "I've killed hundreds of creepy douche bags like you," I bluffed. "Why do you think Madrazo wants me dead so bad? Huh? He pays saps like you to kill me because he's totally scared of doing it himself. I'm crazy! I shoot off dicks and collect them as trophies! And then I eat them for dinner, like, only on my cheat days though, 'cause I'm on a diet and stuff—"

"You on a diet, girl?" Franklin asked casually, gaping at me as he hung from the tree. "Since when?"

"Since right now, I guess," I shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"You don't need a diet," one of the hunters pointed out. "You look great."

"Yeah," his friend agreed. "Fuck media brainwashing and the American cultural perception of beauty. You don't have to change for anyone. You're perfect. We're all perfect as long as we're happy."

The hunters nodded in agreement. I smiled, maybe these murderous losers weren't so bad after all.

"We're still gonna kill ya," the hunters rose their weapons on me yet again.

I spoke too soon. They were bad, really bad.

"Not if I kill you guys first," I snapped, my palms grew damp. The standoff was never gonna end at this rate.

Franklin gazed at the hunter closest to me, there was a blade holstered to his chest. "Ay, man! Gimme that knife."

"Fuck you, turd," he retorted.

"Give my boyfriend the knife," I demanded, poking the barrel of the shotgun against his cheek. "Or I'll blow a hole in your stupid face."

"Alright, Jesus." He slipped the knife from its holster and tossed it to Franklin. "Just don't shoot. I have a family on the way—two baby mamas, one of 'em is having twins. They're gonna need a papa."

"Damn, two baby mamas?" Franklin shook his head. "You fucked up, dog." Using his impeccable upper body strength, he lifted himself up, his sculpted abdomen straining against his t-shirt as he worked on cutting the rope around his ankles.

The hooded hunter from earlier emerged from behind a tree, joining his comrades. "You know you aren't getting out of this forest alive, right?"

A weight pressed on my chest, robbing me of speech. There was something about this guy that worried me more than the others. He had a foreboding aura, his deadpan voice chilled me to the bone. I trembled, recoiling a step back.

Franklin finally freed himself, falling to the ground with a loud _bump_. I backpedaled to him, still holding our enemies at gunpoint. "We're leaving," I stated, helping my boyfriend to his feet. "Follow us and I'll shoot."

"You don't scare me, lady." The hooded hunter ignored my threat, and advanced closer. "C'mon, this what we do for a living. We collect bounties! We've hunted dozens of cowards on the run like you, hiding like rats in whatever nook and cranny they can find, waiting to be butchered. If you really think about it, we're doing you a favor—"

Frank snatched the shotgun from me, and fired a warning shot at his feet. **_Bam!_** It stopped the hooded hunter in his tracks.

"Fine, scurry along while you still can," the hooded hunter smirked. "We won't be far behind."

Franklin kept his shotgun raised as we made our hasty escape. Once the bad guys had faded from sight, I dropped to my knees, utterly exhausted. My breathing was harsh, rapid, my heart hammered against my chest like it was going to explode. I rested weary bones in the grass for a moment, my body slightly relaxed. Thankfully the bad guys hadn't followed us. But the nightmare was far from over, they were bound to come after us again.

Franklin leaned against a hollow tree, sweating profusely and panting heavily. Concerned, I eased close to him, my gaze fixed on the bloody bolt protruding his shoulder.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"I'm good," he huffed. "This… ain't shit. I survived worse."

I frowned. God, I hope he wasn't bluffing just to make me feel better. "I think the creep with the hood is their leader. Why didn't you shoot him?"

"Nah, I couldn't make the shot. My shoulder is fucked."

"But you shot at his feet."

"Shit, that was luck."

I ran a jerky hand through my hair. "You promise you're going to be okay?"

Franklin gripped the bolt and closed his eyes. After a short moment of mental preparation, I assumed, he tugged at the projectile, pulling it out of him with a stiff grunt. "I promise," he reassured through clenched teeth, pressing a palm to his wound.

Blood gushed from between his fingers. My stomach pitched and rolled at the sight of the gore, tears stung my eyes. He must be in so much pain. "Oh god, Franklin, y-you're losing so much blood!"

" _Tracey_ ," Franklin heaved, clasping my neck gently. "I need you to focus… I-I need your help, baby."

I nodded eagerly. "Sure, anything. Just tell me what to do."

"Hold this." He handed me the shotgun, and tore off his shirt, easily ripping it into strips with his hands and teeth. Despite his severe injury, I found myself distracted once again by the fierce strength and fortitude he emanated. My eyes slid over his hard, sweat-glistened chest, as he worked on dressing his wound. I helped him secure the strips into a tight knot. Hopefully that'd be enough to stanch the blood flow for now. But it needed to be properly cleaned and bandaged, just to be safe.

"I'm pretty sure there's a first-aid kit at the cabin," I passed him his shotgun, and scanned our surroundings. Where the heck were we? The forest was huge—a seemingly endless maze of tightly-knit trees, mattered undergrowth, and twisting paths—and we were a long way from the hiking trail we were accustomed to.

 _Crap!_ We were lost, and Franklin was badly injured. What were we going to do?

A deep, familiar howl resonated in the cold, crisp air. My head snapped toward the sound. Chop barreled our way, his great paws kicking up dirt and leaves, twigs and branches snapping beneath him. I beamed. He found us! The brave canine leapt into my arms, licking my face in a frenzy. His black coat was bloodied, his breath was rancid, and stunk like death. I shuddered, turning away from the doggie and patting his big, furry head.

He saved my life, and I wouldn't soon forget it. "I'll give you some kisses after a bath and a Greenie, okay?"

Chop pulled away once he laid eyes on his master. He gravitated close, sniffing Franklin's wound, and let out a soft whine.

Franklin winced. "Chill, little homie. It ain't that bad."

Chop responded with a vicious snarl, flashing his teeth.

"Nah, we can't get even, Chop," Franklin said. "Too many of them motherfuckers." He pumped the shotgun and frowned. "And I'm outta ammo."

"We need to get back to the cabin," I insisted. "We can figure out what to do from there."

"How? You know where the fuck we at? 'Cause I don't—"

"Ruff!" Chop barked, and spun around, his paw pointed to the east.

Seeming to fully comprehend dog language, Franklin furrowed his brows. "You know the way back to cabin, boy?"

"Woof!"

"You got a better sense of direction than we do?"

"Woof! Woof!"

"You want us to follow you?"

Chop merely panted, his cropped tail wagging wildly.

Franklin nodded. "A'ight, little homie. Let's bounce, lead the way."

I sighed. I didn't like the idea of putting our faith—our lives—in the hands of a dog, but what did we have to lose? We were already in a terrible situation; stranded in the forest with murderers, we had no food or water, my boyfriend was injured…

Things couldn't possibly get any worse.

* * *

Chop strung us along for hours; my feet ached, and reddish hues painted the sky. With less light being filtered through the canopies above, shadows were left behind to surround us. Trees creaked and groaned beneath the sharp winds. There were tiny eyes watching us, flickering from the bushes. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, my intuition sharpening my senses. I moved faster, huddling close to Franklin, ignoring the branches scraping my skin and the slimy moss stuck in my sandals.

Franklin had an unsteady gait, his shoulders drooped, breathing heavy. The cloth tied around his wound was drenched in blood. Did the bleeding ever stop? A cold tremor tore down my back. He couldn't keep this up forever. We had to find the cabin soon! We needed that first-aid kit…

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked.

"I'm straight," he muttered, his steps dragging. _He was totally not okay._

I glanced at Chop. "How much farther?"

"Woof," Chop replied.

"He said we almost there," Franklin translated. "Chop took the long route…" He paused, exhaling a pained breath. "To avoid runnin' into them shady ass, bounty hunter dudes. Not like that shit is gonna matter, I bet they know this forest better than we do. They probably trackin' us, plottin' shit, waitin' for the perfect time to creep up on our asses—"

"When did you realize you were a dog whisperer, Frank?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Always been good with animals," he said. "Dogs especially."

"What about cats?"

"Cats are cool, I guess. They ain't very loyal, though."

"Ever thought of becoming a veterinarian? You'd make a great one."

"It's too late for that."

"Why?" I frowned. "You're still young. You can do anything—you could be the president if you wanted to."

Franklin cackled. "Nah, not after all the shady shit I've done. I mean, yeah, I coulda been a lot of things. Decided to hustle, rob shit, and fuck people over instead. I was good at that, got even better when I met your pops and Trevor. Finally got paid the way I deserved—got out the hood, found a nice crib, invested in some businesses…"

"And that's it? Now that you have some money, does life completely stop for you?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "When this is all over, are you gonna sit by the pool, suntan, and drink wine for the rest of your life like my dad?"

"Shit, maybe," he shrugged. "Nothin' in my life came easy, I had to hustle hard for every motherfuckin' thing I got. If I wanna kick my feet up from mornin' 'til night, watchin' the sunset and shit, I'ma do it. If I ain't enjoyin' the fruits of my labor, then what the fuck was the sufferin' for? All the bullshit I went through? The shit I had to do to cop a dollar though…" Franklin sighed heavily, his tone became soft, dejected. "I ain't proud of it. Thinkin' back on it now, after meetin' you—I done a lot of shit I shouldn't have."

What did he mean by that? I gaped at him, stunned by the twinkle of vulnerability in his eyes, and grave expression on his face. His walls were slowly breaking down, and the brooding, melancholy thoughts he always so rigorously buried within, were beginning to seep through.

He continued, "I knew it was wrong from the jump, you feel me? Takin' shit, cappin' fools, not givin' a fuck 'bout who it belonged to…"

"Why'd you do it then?" I asked.

"I thought it was what I owed. Life had robbed me of so much shit—my moms, my pops, a happy home. I came from the gutter, girl, raised by cats on the street, a nigga didn't know no better. But I do now. And I gotta carry the guilt on my shoulders, of all the crazy shit I done did and regret. It's crazy, I thought sure if I was flossin', all them stacks would help me sleep better at night." He gave a quick, deprecating snort. "Ay, remember that first night you spent at my crib?"

I flashed a quivering smile. "I'd do anything to go back to that night," I declared. "Our lives were so simple back then, when Madrazo wasn't in it…"

"Fuckin' Madrazo," Franklin spat on the ground, his muscles quaking. "Feels like we fightin' a losin' battle. It's always one step forward, and two steps back with this motherfucker. Like for real, how he find us? We should be the least of his worries with Mike, T, and LD makin' moves against him. They shoulda been clapped his ass by now. The fuck is takin' so long?"

"I don't know. M-maybe they're still preparing and coordinating a plan. Madrazo can't be an easy guy to get close to."

"Assumin' we handle shit with them bounty hunters, we only got enough supplies to last us a week, Trace. Maybe a little more if we ration shit. Mike knew that."

I nodded. "Daddy will be back before then."

With a grimace and a slight shake of his head, Franklin grew quiet.

"Frank, Dad is coming back," I asserted. "They're all coming back. We just have to wait."

"I'm just sayin', if there's a hold up on their end, they woulda got in touch with us by now."

"It's not like they can call us, Frank. There's no signal out here, and we're a long way from home."

"Dave didn't have no trouble showin' up for a visit. Mike's got all kinds of connections. If he couldn't make the trip, he woulda found a way. Worse come to worst, he coulda sent a carrier pigeon or some shit, I dunno. Mike, T, and LD…" He hesitated before continuing, as if carefully weighing his words. "I bet shit didn't go accordin' to plan for them. Somethin' ain't right. I can feel it."

My heart stuttered. Arms hanging at my sides, I kicked at the crunchy leaves and moist dirt in my path. Franklin's somber demeanor was infectious. What if he was right? Dad and the others could be in trouble, or worse! If they couldn't take down Madrazo, then what hope did we have? We could only run for so long…

Franklin lost his balance, his hobbling gait faltered as he clung to a tree to catch himself. I hurried to his side, cupping his sweaty, flustered cheeks. "Frank? Are you okay?" He seemed disorientated, his eyelids drooping, and breathing harsh. He wouldn't look at me, like my voice was going through one ear and out the other. "Frank!" I gave him a stern shake. "Focus, big guy. Can you hear me?"

"I hear you," he murmured, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face. Chop growled, clawing the dirt impatiently. "Tired… Gimme a sec' to chill, boy."

"It's okay, take your time," I said, my gaze scanning the shadows around us. The coast seemed clear, no dangerous animals or bad guys to be seen. As I searched for threats nearby, I spotted a break in the trees. There was a narrow path of pine cones, shrubs and mud—the hiking trail! The cabin couldn't be far from here! Finally, some good news for a change.

"We're almost there, Frank," I said, my body trembling with anticipation. "Let's go!"

He grunted, pulling away from the tree. I took his hand, and we strode to the footpath alongside Chop. Dusk had fallen, the final remnants of the sun had disappeared behind the leafy canopies overhead, giving way to a dark sky of lavender and glittering stars. The shadows and gloomy patches were growing larger, thicker. If it got any darker, I wouldn't be able to see a thing. We had to hurry.

A gust of roaring wind swept through the forest, whipping at our skin. The evening air, which was usually clean and crisp, was now polluted with the stench of smoke and gas. A black, billowing smog engulfed us, so overbearingly thick, it burned my nostrils. I coughed, covering my mouth to resist the odor. Where was it coming from? We were heading straight for the source; the smoky stench becoming stronger and stronger. I was tempted to turn back, but I couldn't, for Franklin's sake.

Finally, we reached the end of the footpath. My heart stopped.

 _Oh god._

Glowing embers consumed the cabin—our shelter, our food, _our home_ —it was burning to the ground. I watched in horror, wide-eyed in disbelief, as a fist of fire exploded from the roof, blowing out the windows and blackening the wood. I flinched, shielding my face from the jagged splinters and glass hurling through the air.

Chop whimpered, cowering behind us. Pain welled inside me as the flames crackled in my ears.

Our supplies were in there! We weren't going to survive without it! I had to do something!

"No!" I cried, bolting toward the raging fire.

Franklin's strong arm captured my waist, jerking me back. " _Don't_ ," he demanded sharply.

"We have to do something!" I wailed hysterically, squirming in his arms, my small frame pinned to his. My mind was racing. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This. Can't. Be. Effing. Happening.

"Ain't shit we can do, it's too fuckin' late." His trembling lips pressed against my ear, he whispered to me, his tone soft, carefully controlled, " _Tracey, listen to me. Calm down._ _Calm. Down. Breathe for me, girl. In and out, slow and steady._ "

Although our only hope of survival had burst into flames, and I literally wanted to die, I focused on his soothing voice, breathing in deep, exhaling slow. As the grisly reality of the situation began to set in, I sobbed into the crook of Franklin's neck. Why was this happening to us? It wasn't fair. We didn't deserve this.

I cried in his arms until I ran out of tears.

My body somewhat calmed, eventually growing limp. I sniffled and rose my head. Franklin stared at the flames, tears brimmed his lashes. There was a grim twist to his mouth, his expression downcast and stony. His heart was hurting, maybe he felt just as hopeless as I did.

"Hands up!" a strange, gruff voice ordered.

I yelped, glancing over Franklin's shoulder. There was a hunter a short distance away, his crossbow aimed at us. He had to be responsible for burning down the cabin. But where was the rest of his crew?

"I knew you two would turn up eventually," the hunter grinned. "The boys didn't wanna wait around, they rather starve ya out, let ya die slow, but I'm tryna get paid—tonight. Now put your hands up!"

I followed his instructions, my hands shot into the air. Chop did too, sitting down and raising his brown paws high. Franklin however, remained still, his back turned to the hunter.

"Hey, asshole, I won't ask you again," the hunter inched close, and drug the crossbow in my boyfriend's back. "You're coming with me, dead or alive."

Franklin's expression suddenly hardened. The raging blaze illuminated his rugged features, festering flames smoldered within his intense stare. Brows taut, neck corded, and veins straining against his skin, I watched his somber demeanor shift into something dark, dangerous. His fists clenched. His muscles tensed. An unsettling eeriness filled the air, emanating from him.

I swallowed deep, recoiling a step.

With eyes of fiery rage, Franklin spun around, his elbow bashed into the hunter's face. **_Crack_** _!_ The hunter cried out, plunging to the ground, his crossbow flung from his grasp. Blood spilling from his mouth, he scrambled to reclaim the weapon. Franklin stomped on his hand, intercepting him, crushing his fingers beneath his tanned leather boot.

The hunter expelled a pained hiss, his free hand feebly clawing at Franklin's ankles. "Stop! Please, man! That's my shooting hand, m-my money maker!"

Chop fetched the crossbow, capturing the weapon between his teeth like a Frisbee. He passed it to his master. "Where the rest of your homies at?" Franklin asked, pointing the bow at the hunter's head.

"Go fuck a duck," the hunter sneered. "I'm not telling you anything, cockshiner!"

Franklin rose his foot and stomped on the hunter's hand yet again. He did it over and over, broken bones and bloody, severed tissue beneath his boot, screams of anguish pierced the air. I shuddered, my stomach churned at the sight of the hunter's crooked, deformed fingers. The assault was brutally gross, and remorseless. There wasn't a twinge of regret in my boyfriend's eyes. His glare was a bottomless pit of hatred and rage.

He was terrifying, just like the bad guys we've been running away from all this time.

"Frank!" I shoved him away from the hunter. "That's enough! You're torturing him!"

Franklin glowered at me, nostrils flared. I tensed, shrinking beneath his fevered glare. Maybe pushing him was a bad idea…

"To the s-south," the hunter wheezed, clutching his battered hand. "W-we got… we g-got a camp to the s-south, barricaded… sticks out like a sore thumb. Can't miss it…"

"How many of you bitches are there?" Franklin asked.

"Six, i-including me."

"Five now." Franklin drew the crossbow on the hunter and pulled the trigger. The bolt penetrated his forehead, leaving a gaping hole his skull, his body instantly went limp.

I took a startled step back, my flesh crawled. "Oh my god! You… you killed him."

"Damn right, I did," he knelt before the dead hunter, and casually searched his vest pockets. He had plenty of tactical equipment to spare, night-vision goggles, grenades, throwing knives, some packaged snacks too—but still, taking a dead man's stuff felt… _wrong._ But Franklin didn't mind. He stripped the hunter of his camouflaged clothes, shrugging into his vest, shamelessly stealing all the dead dude's stuff. "Psychotic ass motherfucker deserved it."

I heaved, averting my eyes from the bruised corpse. "Jesus, Frank. Since when did you become judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Since they burned our motherfuckin' cabin to the ground!" he snapped. "They're tryna kill us, Trace, this shit is a death sentence. We ain't got no food, no water, no shelter—we won't survive the night—"

"But," I sniffed, my voice tearful, "I-I don't want to die."

Franklin rose, wiping my tear-stained cheeks with the pad of his thumb. His face nuzzled mine, the warm sweetness of his touch soothed my nerves. "I ain't gonna let you die, you hear me? I'ma fix this, I'ma make shit right."

"How?"

"Well, I'ma pay them dudes to the south a visit. They burned our shit, so I'm takin' theirs." He pulled away to the dead hunter and claimed his bolt quiver. "I'ma bury them fuckin' clowns, and once I'm done puttin' them in shallow grave, we goin' back to LS to find the others. No more games, no more runnin', no more cat and mouse bullshit—Madrazo is mine. If somebody finna put his bitch ass down…" He pried the used, bloody bolt from the dead hunter's skull, and stored it within the quiver for later use—in preparation for the gruesome battle ahead. "It finna be me."

Franklin's posture was strong, his movement quick and precise. It might have been adrenaline that fueled his fast-paced stride, numbing the physical trauma he suffered. Or maybe, it was vengeance—a ruthless drive to destroy those who wronged him, and if successful, the thrill of triumphant victory.

I gulped. Loudly. If he went on a murderous warpath, he would die. He was a one-man army facing innumerable odds. It was suicide. But he was also stubborn, bold, and brave, I knew better than anyone that his courage would not be swayed.

Although certain death loomed ahead, I wouldn't let him face it alone. I was no good in a fight, but I was in love with him, and I'd follow him to the end of the earth, through battlefields too if I must.

Franklin snorted, offering me a bemused smile. "Nuh-uh, I know that look, girl. Whatever you thinkin', forget it, 'cause you ain't comin' with me."

"Yes, I am," I stamped to his side.

"Nah."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes." I kissed the tip of his nose. "Please?"

He flushed and pushed me away softly, playfully. "Why? So yo' impulsive ass can get me shot again?" He flashed a teasing smile. "I'll pass."

* * *

 **So, I know its been like, almost a month since I updated... but I was lacking inspiration, plagued with uncertainty regarding my writing ability, suffering from writers block too... but I pulled through, and I'm back! I WILL NOT abandon this fan fic, I'm determined to see it through to the end, with you guys as my support. Sometimes I wonder if people are still reading this? I hope so lol, show some love in the review section if you are. I need inspiration guys! (Some feedback would be nice too). Thank you for reading if you are, I seriously appreciate and love you all for sticking by my side throughout this long journey :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey y'all, I'm back with an update! :D (Late as usual, I know) Anyway, let's get straight to it.**

* * *

I frowned, gazing at the tattered, bloody rag around Franklin's wounded shoulder. He was absolutely right, I did get him shot. If I wasn't so impulsive… "I-I know I'm a handful," I muttered. "I know I'm annoying, dumb, and clingy…" I sighed, my cheeks burned. "I dunno know how you put up with my crap."

Franklin's expression grew serious, his teasing demeanor quickly faded as he absorbed my words. Silently, he took one last look at the incinerated cabin, and turned away to venture the hiking trail. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned Chop and I to follow him.

The green, leafy terrain that was welcoming by day—seeded with vivid wildflowers and fluttering butterflies—had grown hazily ominous by night. With only a trickle of moonlight slithering through the canopies above, the winding footpath strewn before us was shrouded in blackness. Besides the cold breeze whipping against my ears, the forest was dead silent.

Slender night-vision goggles strapped to his head, Franklin served as my guide through the darkness and densely packed trees, our fingers intertwined. Chop trotted at our heels, his wet nose occasionally brushing my ankles. Despite the danger and uncertainty looming ahead, I felt relatively safe with my two favorite boys nearby. At least for now.

But where were we going? The hiking trail surely didn't lead south to the hunter's camp.

"Frank?" I tugged at his sleeve, my voice a wary whisper in the foreboding darkness, as if even the hollow trees were not to be trusted.

He clutched my tense shoulder, pulling me closer. His body heat and tender touch soothed me. "Wassup?"

"Where are we going?"

"I'ma find you somewhere safe to chill until I get back. I ain't takin' you with me."

"But—"

"For real, this shit ain't a game," he stated. "I'm 'bout to run down on a gang of bounty hunters—on their turf too. Them bow-slingin' motherfuckers are highly trained, and they don't give a fuck 'bout clappin' us. They tryna get paid, girl. The chances of me survivin' is slim enough as it is, and if I had to worry 'bout yo' little defenseless ass the whole time on top of that…"

Franklin continued to ramble on and on about the impending dangers he would soon face, and my lack of experience in a fight, but I tuned him out. "You're wrong, I can handle myself. I wouldn't have made it this far if I couldn't—"

" _Tracey!"_ he blurted, his harsh tone razed the forest air. "Why you keep fightin' me on this? You got a death wish or some shit?"

I glared at him defiantly. "I can't let you do this alone! You're going to get yourself killed! You need me."

"I don't need shit. You know damn well you only finna slow me down."

"Oh my god, why are you so determined to fight those guys? We don't need to steal their stuff. Why can't we live off the land like the people in the survival shows? Eat berries, hunt animals, build our own shelter…"

"Them cats from the survival shows ain't got a bounty on their heads, Trace. It's kill or be killed out here, and them hunters ain't finna stop 'til we dead, a'ight?" Franklin sighed. "Ain't you tired of runnin'? Bein' paranoid? Sittin' around, waitin' for motherfuckers to creep up and take a shot at you? I dunno 'bout you, girl, but I rather die fightin'. Better that than to starve to death or some shit."

"Okay, sure, we don't have food or shelter, but that doesn't mean you should throw your life away, either." I crossed my arms over my chest. "This is a dumb idea. It isn't fair."

Jaw clenched, he rolled his eyes. "You know, sometimes life ain't fuckin' fair, _princess_. Deal with it."

Pinching my lips together, I stomped my feet as I walked. Clearly this conversation was pointless. _Ugh._ _He's so annoying._ What made him think he could tell me what to do? That his word was law? Did he even give a crap about how I felt? What was I supposed to do—just sit around and let him die? No way.

But in hindsight, what could I really do to help him anyway? It's not like I was much of a fighter. And what if I got him shot again? I sighed.

We turned off the footpath. After a few minutes or so of paving our way through the bitterly cold darkness, there was a break in the trees, and the dirt road we discovered earlier during our first encounter with the hunters emerged. The black sedan pinned to the tree was still there, no longer oozing smoke thankfully, but the injured FIB agent was gone. All that remained of him was a pair of cracked sunglasses, and smudges of dried up blood in the dirt.

Where did he go? Did he get away? Did the hunters take him?

Franklin escorted Chop and I to the car. He peered through the tinted windows for a moment, and then opened the door. The keys were still in the ignition. He gave it a few cranks, but as expected, the piece of junk didn't start.

"Shit, it was worth a try," Franklin murmured, dipping into the car and scouring through the black leather interior. With a bit of luck and a thorough inspection of the glove box, he retrieved a multi-tool, and a small flashlight. Hoping to make myself useful for once, I popped the trunk in search for something we could use. There were some old boots, and a wool blanket inside. The boots wouldn't be much use, too big for me, but the blanket looked warm. Better than nothing.

"Trace," Franklin held the car door open for me. "The windshield is cracked, but it's warmer in there than out there."

I stared at the worthless tin can of a car, and grimaced. It was dark inside, and reeked of tobacco, cigarette ashes coated the floor. "Frank, it smells funny in there."

He shrugged a powerful shoulder. "It ain't that bad. You'll live."

"How can you be so sure? What if the bad guys come back?"

"They won't. I'ma make sure of it."

I ran a jerky hand through my hair. I really didn't want to be left here all alone. I needed him with me. "Can't you just stay with me?" I asked, my voice frantic, desperate. "M-maybe if we try hard enough, we can get the car running a-and—"

"Baby…" Franklin's strong arms clasped my waist, and drew me into a snug embrace, my head tucked comfortably beneath his chin. I clung to him, our thighs snuggling. His grasp tightened, as if he couldn't pull me close enough, as if our bodies completely molded together as one, from head to toe, wasn't enough. "I'ma miss you," he said sweetly, lovingly, as he pressed featherlike kisses to my skin.

My heart fluttered. It was rare for him to be so affectionate, but we were both grievously aware that this fleeting moment might very well be our last. I didn't want it to end. I pushed up his goggles for a final glimpse at the stunning hazel hues within his eyes. I'd miss his gorgeous stare, and the way his lovely brown skin would flush red when he was nervous or blushing. But most importantly, I'd miss how made me feel— _safe. Protected._

Even when it felt like the world was falling apart around me, if I had him by my side, I knew I'd survive. That I'd be okay. He gave me hope. He made my pathetic excuse of a life worth living.

If he wasn't in my life, I wasn't sure if I could carry on.

 _I couldn't, I wouldn't. I refused to._

I clutched his vest collar, and pleaded to him with watery eyes, and a heavy heart. "Please, d-don't let them kill you. Don't die, o-okay? Come back to me, p-please… Just come back…"

He didn't utter a word. Instead, he cupped my chin, and kissed my trembling mouth, his lips and tongue caressing mine with fierce urgency. I gasped against the seam of his lips, the heat of his passion burned me to the core, melting my fears away, at least for a moment. He kissed me as if he had been starving to taste me, nibbling and sucking, pulling me closer and closer.

Even in such dark, ominous surroundings, I was swept away by my desire for him. Our breath intertwined, my knees grew wobbly. He loved me, and he didn't need to say it aloud. What use were simple words when he could communicate so deeply and intensely with touch alone? His emotion was spilling out in waves, his muscles quaking, and heart jack-hammering against his ribcage.

Every kiss we shared was more intense than the last. If only I could stay like this forever, pressed tight to his hard body as he kissed me, savoring the taste of my lips like there was no tomorrow. Like it was our last time… I wanted right now to be my forever. Just me and him. Alone. Together. For eternity.

But good things never last forever.

Growling low in his throat, he dragged his mouth away. Capturing my waist, he hauled me off my feet, twirling me about playfully in his arms. I snorted sadly—a cross between a snicker and a pout—enjoying the bittersweet sensation of my boyfriend whisking me off aching feet. "I'll be back before you know it." There was a tight smile plastered to his face. He was trying so hard to be optimistic for me. It only made my heart ache worse. Franklin was a realist, and his fate seemed even more grim now that he was lying to me.

"Here," he handed me the flashlight he found. "Ain't much, but it's somethin'."

"Thanks," I sniffed. "Be careful, okay?"

"Chill, baby. I got this." He smirked at me, wide, confident, and oh so sure of himself. "Stay here while I handle shit, a'ight? Wait for me. Don't go wanderin' off, it's too dark out here. I don't want yo' little ass gettin' lost, fallin' in a ditch or some shit. Then you can't climb out, 'cause you got a bad arm. You know you real clumsy too, bones all fragile—might trip over your own feet and break your neck—"

"Frank," my cheeks flushed pink. "Seriously? That's not funny, I'm not _that_ hopeless, you jerk."

"I'm just sayin', yo' ass is delicate, baby," he teased. "You need constant supervision, twenty-four-fuckin'-seven. Ain't nothin' wrong with it, though. It's cute."

"Shut up," a smile pulled at my lips.

He returned a sweet smile and planted one last kiss on my forehead. "Hold tight, girl. See you soon."

I stood reluctantly by the car as he turned away into the night with a purposeful stride, Chop darting after him, my heart sinking low in my chest.

And then, he was gone.

* * *

I was up for hours—at least it felt like hours—bawling my eyes out, staring blankly at the outside world through the cracked windshield. Just blackness and dead silence. The car was like an icebox. Frigid and cold. The blanket helped, but not enough. My stomach growled. I was starving. At least I was losing weight. Silver linings, right?

Where the effing hell was my boyfriend? What was taking him so long? Rubbing my sweaty hands over my shorts, I sighed for the hundredth time. I wonder what Mom would do right now if she were in my shoes. I doubt she'd sit here and let Dad die. She'd do something if she knew he were in danger. Make a couple of phone calls at least. I couldn't even do that. I couldn't do anything.

 _Dammit!_ I slammed my fist over the wheel. Franklin should had been back by now. I had to do something, I was so tired of being useless. I could leave, maybe try to find him but…

What if he was already dead?

No! He can't be dead. Franklin is alive. He must be. I'm not giving up on him. Not now, not ever.

I pushed open the door, the blackness of the night quickly pressing in on me, insects buzzing in my ears. I gulped, my legs trembling. With a click of the flashlight, a strong beam powered through the darkness to the trees beyond. Wow, this flashlight wasn't half bad—

Loud screams split the forest air, echoing painfully through the trees. I froze, my eyes widened. Who or _what_ was that? Where did it come from? This is crazy! I was tempted to lock myself back in the car. A girl like me should not be wandering the forest at night by herself. I could get snatched, or eaten, or worse…

What a coward I was. What if my boyfriend needed me right now? I'd give anything to be in his arms again, kissing him—heck, I wouldn't even mind dealing with his mood swings right now. My chest ached. I missed him so much, it hurt.

It was time to put my big girl pants on and take back what was rightfully mine—my boyfriend. I sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled, calming my nerves. _I can do this._

I inched out of the car, and took off in Franklin's direction, slow and steady, the bright beam of the flashlight lighting my path. Luckily, his big boots left a rather distinguishable print in the dirt. If I could stay calm and just focus on following the footprints—and not die along the way of course—I'd find my boyfriend in no time.

* * *

I followed his footsteps to a clearing in the forest. It held a circle of three old log cabins, each of them riddled with jagged splinters and wood rot. Flimsy and infested with mold, the tiny, ancient structures were on the verge of caving in on themselves. Sharp, thorny vines marred the doors—a warning to keep out.

"Help!" a shrill, desperate cry pierced the air.

In the center was a large firepit, the light cast by the dancing embers illuminated the infamous and regrettably familiar, dirt-caked faces of the bounty hunters. Crossbows strapped to their backs and gloved fists clenched, the two of them towered over a trembling man coiled in the dirt. His pale skin was heavily bruised, laced with cuts and grime, the black tailored suit he wore had been reduced to shreds. Although he was on the brink of death, pale and barely moving, the hunters kicked and stomped at him, evil glinting in their wild eyes as they laughed, swore, and shouted profanity into the air.

"Die, you piece of shit!"

"Look at 'em squirm!"

"Fuckin' pig!"

My flesh crawled as the savagery commenced. Ugh, these people were sick. Knowing better than to stand out in the open like a log, I crouched behind a bush, my heart thudding hard against my chest. Why are they beating him? What did the poor guy do to them to deserve this? Face deformed and bloody spit drooling from his slack jaw, I cringed. _Gross._

My gaze shifted to his mutilated leg. I gasped. _It was the injured FIB agent who crashed his car!_

He was stationed out here to protect Franklin and I, and now, he was going to die because of us. My stomach hardened as the life slowly drained from his swollen eyes. If only I had gotten here sooner, maybe I could've done something to help him. It was too late now…

Tears stung my eyes, but there was no time to sit around and cry. My boyfriend was around here somewhere, and I had to find him. Hopefully the bad guys hadn't gotten their hands on him too.

 ** _Woof! Woof!_**

The fierce barking of a dog resonated through the night air. My breath hitched. It had to be Chop!

While the dumb hunters were preoccupied with beating a corpse, I maneuvered around them tentatively in a low crouch, hugging the bushes, inching toward the noisy barking. The vicious snarling grew louder as I reached the cabin to the far left—the smallest of the three. I halted at the dusty window, wiping the cobwebs from the glass, and peered inside.

A silver of moon glinted through the window, shedding just enough light into the narrow, dimly lit cabin to spot Chop. He was up on his hind legs, banging and clawing relentlessly at the locked door for freedom. I tapped on the grimy glass for his attention. He glanced at me, eyes bright and questioning, his floppy ears shot straight up. I beamed at him, relieved that he was alright.

"Come here, boy," I beckoned him with a wave of my hand.

He darted to the window, and stood up to face me, his hot breath fogging the glass. Big brown eyes fixed on me, Chop waited for obediently for my instruction.

"I'm gonna get you outta here, okay?" I tugged at the window, but it was sealed shut. I tried the door next, but it wouldn't budge either, locked from the inside. Damn. What now?

At my feet were countless stones peeking from the earth. I scooped one into my hand and examined the window. I could break it and set Chop free, but it'd be loud. _Really loud._ My cover would be blown. I wouldn't stand a chance against the angry maniacs with crossbows.

I couldn't afford the risk, not until I found Franklin. With his help, maybe we could take them on. Assuming he was alive…

"Here's the plan," I said, returning to Chop. "You're gonna stay here and be a good boy while I go and find help, okay?" He responded with a shrill whine, his eyes sad and imploring. My heart clenched. "I promise I'll come back for you, boy. Wait for me."

I glanced at the hunters by the firepit, who were still blindly brutalizing a corpse. They won't be distracted forever. Heartbeat racing and stomach queasy, I turned away from the window. It pained me to leave Chop behind, but I was running out of time. I had to find Franklin.

I hustled to the next cabin, and peeked through the dusty, cracked window. But there were only shadows. This cabin was larger than the other, and way darker. I could barely see a thing. I glanced at the old, rusted window latch. Getting inside would be a piece of cake.

I eased up the old window and attempted to slip through it, quietly like a ninja. It was smooth sailing for the most part, until my sandal got caught on the ledge. I yelped, losing my balance, my butt collided with the cabin's splintery floorboards with a rough **_thud_.** _So much for being quiet._

"Oww," I whimpered, scrambling to my feet, the darkness quickly pressing in on me. Grabbing my flashlight, I flicked the power button. But nothing happened. I pressed the button repeatedly, but to no avail. The piece of crap wouldn't work. "No!" I cried desperately, my heart pounding against my chest. My thoughts leaped feverishly. I can't see! What if I wasn't alone? What if the hunters heard me?

My gaze shifted to the open window. It'd be so easy to turn back now—

 ** _Thump. Thump._**

The sound of boots against the creaking floorboards stopped my heart cold. There was someone here with me, lingering in the darkness.

 ** _Thump. Thump._**

 _I wasn't alone._

I stumbled, pressing my back to a hard, splintery surface I assumed was a wall. "W-who's there?" I asked through chattering teeth.

"Tracey?" a deep, strong voice called out to me, the familiar rasp warded off my fears, and made my heart flutter.

"Frank!" Longing fiercely for his touch, without thinking, I forged through the shadows in the direction of his voice. I bumped into his hard body, and draped my arms around his neck, hugging him the tightest I could. We had finally reunited, his great biceps were like stone beneath my fingertips, his stomach a rippled slab of muscle against my petite frame. Despite the odds, even when swallowed in absolute darkness, his enormous strength comforted me. I beamed, the warmth of his skin restored my courage.

"Girl, I told you to stay in the car," he muttered, tilting his chin to plant a gentle kiss on my head. "What you doin' here?"

"Saving your ass," I reached for his hand, but they were pinned tight behind his back by some sort of rough, corded material. My stomach dropped.

"It's rope, them bounty hunter dudes tied my ass to a support beam. There's a knife around here somewhere, find that shit."

"W-what? It's too dark in here, h-how am I supposed to find anything?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"No, b-but—"

"Baby, just try, a'ight?" his voice shook with strain. "We don't have time, them motherfuckers finna be back any second now. C'mon, hurry."

Obediently, I set off in search for a tool to set my boyfriend free. Without my eyes to guide me, I relied on my sense of touch instead, my arms extended in front of me. I advanced slowly, my knee collided with a smooth, leathery fabric. A couch maybe? I pat down the soft cushions for anything of use. Nothing. I swerved around it and continued the search.

"You straight, Trace?" Franklin asked. "Find anythin'?"

"Not yet," I mumbled, my fingers smoothing over a thick, silky texture. Were these sheets? Could it be a bed? I pushed on the fabric, the bouncy sensation of a springy mattress confirmed my suspicion. Thoroughly groping the sheets, underneath a cotton pillow, I skimmed a finger over a cold, metallic object. It had a narrow, sharp edge.

 _A knife! I found one!_

"By the way, there's some dead dudes in here," Franklin said casually. "Don't trip over them, a'ight?"

"What?" I shuddered, bumping into a hard, round surface. It came crashing down with a loud **_bang._** I froze, heat staining my cheeks. _Crap!_

"What was that?" a voice blurted from outside.

"Hide!" Franklin demanded.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! Cursing my terrible balance, I scrambled to the bed, and slid under it. The cabin lights abruptly flicked on, revealing a spacious, rustic bedroom. My breath hitched at the sight of the corpses sprawled in the corner of the room. Two men, each with an arrow through the chest, fresh blood stained their gear. They must've been hunters. Did my boyfriend kill them?

The front door slammed open, and the hooded hunter strode inside, glowering menacingly at the tiny, circular table lying on the floor, across the room from Franklin. He glanced at the rope restraining my boyfriend's ankles and wrists to the tall support beam, and then, his shadowy eyes shifted to the wide-open window. "I smell a rat," he stated coldly, emotionlessly.

My eyes widened, practically bulging from the sockets. He stormed about the room in a ruthless search for me, ripping open closets, kicking over chairs, and throwing tables. Suddenly, he spun around, his glare locked on the bed I hid under. I gulped, slapping a palm over my mouth to silence my heavy breathing. He stalked toward me with a twisted smirk, evil glinted in his eyes.

"I'm going to skin you alive," he laughed, so ugly and bitter, my stomach lurched with nausea.

His dirty, gloved fingers clutched the bed frame, preparing to flip the mattress over. There was nowhere to run now, I had to defend myself! Hands shaking uncontrollably, I rose my knife. If I'm lucky, maybe I could shank him in the eye—

"Ay!" Franklin blurted out, the hooded hunter's head snapped in his direction. "You know the FIB is on their way, right?"

The hooded hunter pulled away from the bed, "Impossible. Your FIB buddy is right outside, lying in a pool of his own blood and feces. No one else is coming to save you, fuckface." He stamped over to my boyfriend and tugged at his vest. "This doesn't belong to you. Where'd you get it?"

Nostrils flared, Franklin grumbled, "I killed a motherfucker for it—"

The hooded hunter struck my boyfriend with a quick slap across the face. **_Pow!_** I winced. That looked like it hurt.

Franklin let out a stiff grin, seemingly unfazed by the attack. "Bitch slappin' me ain't finna bring none of your homies back, dog."

"No, but it makes me feel better. You waltz into my camp, kill two of my boys—I should bitch slap you until the break of dawn. But I'm not gonna do that, because I'm a reasonable guy, Franklin."

"You know a nigga's name, huh?"

"Sure, we did our research before accepting the job, we had to know what we were getting ourselves into. Ex-hitman, bank robber, street racer, gangbanger, drug dealer…" The hooded hunter shook his head. "The list goes on and on, your crime record is thicker than a goddamn textbook. How are you—a murderous psychopath on the FIB most wanted list—being protected by the FIB at the same time? I just can't wrap my head around it, it's the biggest paradox in the fucking world. You should be dead, or in federal fucking prison at the very least. Hell, maybe in solitary confinement. Why's the FIB protecting a nutjob like you?"

"You know a lot of shit 'bout me, but I don't know a goddamn thing 'bout you," Franklin said, avoiding his question. "Who the fuck are you?"

The hooded hunter rubbed his receding chin, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he removed his hood. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at him—his craggy pale face was blackened with mud and grime. Jeez, when was the last time this dude took a bath? A thick layer of dust flecked his thinning hair, tinting the blonde strands an ashen gray. He rubbed his soil-smudged lips, and said, "My daddy named me Rowdy because I'm always making a ruckus. At least that's what Ma told me. He's dead now, killed him myself. Fun fact, in case you were curious."

Franklin narrowed his eyes. "Man, what the fuck you want from me?"

"Straight to the point, huh?" Rowdy smirked, gripping the knife handle holstered to his waist. "I'm going to slit your throat. And then, me and my boys are gonna personally deliver your lifeless corpse to Madrazo. If it were up to me, I'd throw your body in a lake and call it a night, but the boss wants proof."

Franklin leaned back casually, his mouth set in a grim line, showing no signs of fear despite the severity of his predicament. "You ain't finna do a motherfuckin' thing, asshole."

Rowdy narrowed his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

"'Cause if you finna clap my ass, you woulda did that shit by now. Why you stallin'? You want somethin', right?"

"What a pleasant surprise, you're smarter than you look. The girl—I want the girl. Where is she?"

Franklin responded with a shrug, his jaw clenched. I swallowed hard. Madrazo wanted the both of us, my boyfriend alone wouldn't be enough.

"I figured getting you to talk wouldn't be easy." Rowdy drew his knife. I shuddered, tension split the air as he ogled at the blade, admiring the sharp edge, his wrinkled lips distorted into an ugly smirk. "It's not too late to do this the easy way. Tell me where she is, and I'll silt your throat—quick and easy."

Head bowed, Franklin quivered, his fists clenching anxiously. Attempting to calm himself, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled through his flared nostrils. "The way I see it," he said, "I'm dead either fuckin' way, dog, so I ain't tellin' you shit."

Rowdy stalked close and pressed the knife to my boyfriend's neck. My eyes widened. My stomach pitched and rolled. My heart was on the verge of bursting from my chest. Time came to a slow as the blade nipped his skin, drawing blood.

Tears spilled down my hot cheeks. This was it. The man I was so desperately in love with—he was going to die. I wanted to scream. To fight. To do something, anything. I glanced at the knife in my shaky grasp. I could take a life and save the one that truly mattered. But I couldn't muster the courage to move. My stomach flipped, vomit rose in my throat. Who am I kidding? I'm not a murderer…

If I tried to fight, he'd kill me too. And if I die, all the sacrifices Franklin made for me would be for nothing.

Or maybe I was lying to myself, hiding from the truth, because I was too ashamed to admit I was nothing more than a coward.

A pang struck my heart. Unable to hold in the pain, I cupped my trembling mouth, stifling the whimpers slipping through my lips. _Damn it!_ I should had been more patient with him. I should had been more understanding of his temperament. He felt like he wasn't good enough for me, that I deserved better. Why was I always trying to change him? If only he knew how deeply I was in love with him regardless of his flaws.

I was a pathetic excuse of a girlfriend. I couldn't even help him when he needed me most. What did he even see in me? I was useless.

"Where's the girl?" Rowdy asked, prodding the blade against Franklin's skin. "Talk, or I'll start slicing."

"Do it then, mark ass bitch," Franklin snapped, remaining still as a statue as he waited for the end, a glint of gallant spirit in his eyes. God, how did he manage to be so brave?

"You should be shitting yourself right now," he pointed out, making note of Franklin's fearless poise. "Why aren't you afraid?"

An uncomfortable silence descended over the cabin.

"You're a tough little shit, aren't cha?" Rowdy holstered his blade. I let out a sigh of relief. "You aren't afraid of knives, but that's fine. I'll just have to get creative. I was hoping I didn't have to resort to this, but you leave me no choice." He shuffled through his vest pouch and withdrew a red pepper. I stared blankly at the small, shriveled up fruit. What the heck was he going to do with that?

Franklin cackled scornfully. "For real? That's the best you got? A motherfuckin' pepper?"

" _Ghost pepper_ ," Rowdy corrected.

The blood drained from Franklin's face. "N-nah," he stammered. "Bullshit."

"I got my own pepper patch back home, grew this baby myself. It's a real delicate process, they only thrive in hot, humid climates, and fuck, do they pack a punch. Hot enough to burn a hole through a grown man's throat, assuming his body doesn't give in after the first bite. You look like you can handle a pepper or two, what do you think?"

Franklin swallowed deep, cold sweat dotted his forehead. "Look, man, just… just chill out, a'ight? I got a low tolerance for spicy shit, I-I can barely handle hot sauce, dog."

"Don't make me do it," Rowdy nudged the ghost pepper against the seam of Franklin's lips. "Not even a piece of shit like you deserves to suffer like this. Burning from the inside out, it's a fate worse than death. Do yourself a favor, and just tell me where she is."

Franklin jerked his head away from the fruit. "Chill!" he pleaded, his voice cracked with tremors. "Niggas don't get down with that spicy ass shit. If you melt my black ass, you ain't never finna find Tracey, motherfucker."

"Oh, we'll find her, even if we have to burn this entire forest to the ground. She's dead! And so are you."

Why did my boyfriend fear peppers more than being shanked to death with a knife? I had no clue. But it hurt to witness his dauntless demeanor finally break. For the very first time, he was openly afraid, and unable to mask it, eyes wide, and breathing ragged. He deserved better than this. We both did. My temperature spiked, a sudden rush of adrenaline surged through my veins.

 _Enough is enough!_

I wasn't gonna let some psycho burn a hole through my man's throat. Not today. My grip tightened around the knife. Our love was worth fighting for! No more playing nice!

My fear drowned out by the righteous passion to protect my love, I sprang up, lunging at Rowdy with an incoherent cry of desperate fury. He whirled around. The blade pierced his vest, sinking deep into his stomach. He reeled, clutching the knife, blood seeping between his fingers. "You!" he latched onto my arm tightly. "Why are you fighting it? Madrazo is going to kill you! He's going to get you, he's going to… he's going to kill—"

"Get off, sicko!" I pried the knife from his stiff fingers and jerked away.

He staggered and went down hard, sprawling to the floor. "This isn't how it's supposed to play out. My m-money, I need… my money…"

Hastily, I cut Franklin free of his restraints. He claimed the bloody weapon from my trembling hands and towered over Rowdy's quaking body. "Man, all this for a goddamn paycheck…" He shook his head. "It's over, fool. All the money in the world can't help yo' greedy ass now."

" _Help!_ " Rowdy wailed, his desperate outburst echoed like thunder, rattling the shoddy walls of the cabin.

Two armed hunters stormed through the door, and with lightning fast reflexes, Franklin charged forward to engage them in combat. Now that the gap between them was closed, leaving no room for a clear shot, they dropped their bows, and used their fists instead. But each punch they threw was effortlessly deflected by my boyfriend. He was bigger than them, much stronger, and he took advantage of it—head-butting one of the men and knocking him away.

The next attacker unleashed a vicious swing, but Franklin dodged the wild blow, and drove the knife into him twice, once in each lung with a merciless twist. Blood sprayed through the air, splattering the walls. The bleeding hunter crumbled to the floor in agony, pleading weakly for mercy, but his begging fell on deaf ears. Franklin rose a foot over his head, and kicked, crushing his skull with a single stomp.

My stomach churned witnessing the gore, the hunter's head split under Franklin's heel like roadkill. Gooey brain matter and blood beneath his big leather boot, he turned to confront his remaining enemy. I swallowed deep. I almost felt sorry for the unlucky guy still standing. He grew stiff like a cornered animal, hopeless, and doomed to meet his inevitable demise just like the rest of his friends.

He rose his hands high in surrender. "Yo man, I'm… I'm sorry about what went down earlier in the forest, shooting at you, burning down your cabin, keeping you and your dog hostage, trying to kill your girl… that wasn't cool, y-you know? But for the record, it was all his idea." He stabbed a finger at Rowdy. "He's the mastermind here, I'm just a pawn, you feel me? I didn't know any better, my dude. Honest."

Franklin's eyes were hard, filled with pitiless scorn. There would be no mercy. "It's too late to be sorry, nigga."

"Wait!" he cried, stumbling back as Franklin took a menacing step closer. "We're brothers, man! The black on black violence has gotta stop—"

My boyfriend captured his neck, silencing him. I turned away, covering my ears. I couldn't bear to watch a defenseless man be executed, no matter how badly he deserved it.

I count to ten, and then hazard a peek behind me.

Franklin towered over the broken corpses of his enemies, knuckles coated in blood. There was a gleam of confidence in his hard glare, his lips curved into a tight smile. He was victorious, his ruthless thirst for revenge finally quenched. He basked in the glory of victory for only a moment however, his smile quickly fading into a deep grimace.

I sighed. Relieved as I was for surviving our brush with death, the fight was far from over. Madrazo was still out there, and Franklin was coming for him. Judging by the seething determination in my boyfriend's eyes, trying to dissuade him was pointless. He would stop at nothing to destroy our enemies. Now that the hunters were dead and crossed off the list, Madrazo was next.

The deep growl of a straining engine resonated through the cabin. I glanced through the window. A black SUV came forth from the trees and swerved into a hard stop. Men in black tailored suits and sharp sunglasses emerged from the vehicle. Sagging against the wall, the tension in my muscles dissolved.

"The FIB is here," I smiled. Everything was going to be okay after all.

Franklin rolled his eyes. "For real? Now these fools show up? After all the shit we done been through? Man, as if I didn't have enough reasons to hate the fuckin' police already. These late ass motherfuckers ain't shit."

* * *

The FIB gave us a lift back to the city. I was dying to go home, to see Dad and the others, to sleep in the comfort of my own bed for a change.

But I couldn't. No one would let me.

"The fuck you mean we can't leave?" Franklin's booming voice filled the hotel room, the spotless white walls quaked beneath his powerful shout.

"It's only temporary," Dave argued as he paced the brown carpeted floor, his expression pinched. "It's for your own good, I'm trying to protect you."

"I don't need no damn protection, man."

"Yes, you fucking do. I don't think you understand how much danger you're in. Madrazo keeps raising the stakes. Every two-bit criminal across the fucking state wants your head on a pike."

I sat on the neatly made bed alongside Chop as the argument commenced, glaring at the ceiling. I was so tired of hotels. They were all the same—boring. They lacked charm and personality. I missed being able to cook. I missed the cozy feeling of home. I was trapped in this stupid, tiny room and there was no escape.

"I need to be on the streets with Michael and Trevor," Franklin declared without a shred of doubt.

"Michael and Trevor are on a top secret, highly sensitive mission," Dave argued. "They can't afford to be disturbed, they have their own problems to worry about."

"They're on a secret mission?" I blinked. "What secret mission?"

"That's classified," Dave muttered.

"But what about Madrazo?" I asked. "Dad and Uncle T were supposed to be going after him. I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Looks like Michael and Trevor are workin' for the fuckin' feds again," Franklin grumbled. "What y'all fools got them doin' now? Stealin' more chemical bombs? Invadin' foreign countries? Assassinatin' dictators and shit?"

Dave snorted. "Trust me, whatever they're doing is in your best interest. You'll thank me later."

"Bullshit," Franklin snapped. "What 'bout Lamar? Where he at?"

"Don't worry about Lamar, he's fine. My agency is working tirelessly to keep you all alive. Don't make this any harder for us by leaving."

"Fuck that. I'm tired of hidin', dog. All this cowardly shit ain't workin' for me, Madrazo always ends up findin' my ass regardless."

Dave glanced at me. "What about Tracey? Are you going to leave her to fend for herself?"

Franklin grew quiet, his lips pressing together in a tight grimace. Heat staining my cheeks, I bowed my head, staring at my feet. As usual, I was holding him back. I hated it.

Dave sighed. "Clearly you two have been through a lot—you look like hell. Why not take a hot shower, relax, get some sleep? The building's secure and under surveillance, there's agents patrolling the premises, you're safe here. I'll come check on you both in the morning."

I sighed heavily as Dave made his departure. "This sucks."

Franklin toppled onto the bed, dark smudges of exhaustion under his eyes. Chop inched close to his master, licking his face.

I glanced at his properly bandaged shoulder. We stopped at a walk-in clinic on the way here, and thanks to the adept doctors, my boyfriend was going to be okay. The bleeding had stopped, and his professionally dressed wound had been thoroughly cleaned.

He was lucky to be alive. We both were. I sniffed, eyes watering as memories flooded my mind. This entire day had been one huge nightmare. So much blood, hatred, and death—I stabbed someone! I took a life! I had blood on my hands, and there was no going back.

Lips trembling, a dry sob burned my throat. I was a murderer.

"Trace?" Franklin flinched, his dark eyes catching a glance of my pain-stricken expression. "You a'ight, baby? What's wrong?"

" _Everything_ ," I blurted tearfully. "I killed someone, Frank. I'm a murderer."

Hesitantly, he touched a finger to the corner of my eye, brushing away the tears. "Nah, you did what you had to do. It was justified, you did the right thing."

I shook my head. "If it was the right thing, then why do I feel so crappy about it?"

Franklin took my hand, easing me onto the bed. With a gentle shift, we were chest to chest, his strong arms draped around my waist with unexpected tenderness. I melted into his safe embrace, my face buried in the warm crook of his neck. The gnawing guilt and terrible thoughts faltered once the enticing scent of him enveloped my nostrils. I breathed deep, cherishing the masculine smell, and comforting heat radiating from his skin.

"Sometimes, doin' the right thing ain't easy," his voice held a soft, sweet serenity that I had no clue he was even capable of. "But you saved me, girl. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead."

"I couldn't let you die," I muttered, absently toying with the diamond stud sparkling in his ear. "Not after everything you've done for me. There was so much I wanted to say to you, so much I wanted to apologize for. I-I…" My voice trailed off as I fumbled for the right words.

He tipped up my chin with his finger, silently demanding I look at him. Our gazes locked, his amber eyes filled with genuine compassion. "You got nothin' to apologize for, Trace. I'm the one who's been fuckin' up lately. You deserve an apology, not me."

"Since the beginning of our relationship, I've been trying to change you into someone you're not. You're not good with emotions, or expressing the way you feel, and that's okay—"

"It ain't okay," he rebuked. "You deserve a dude who's emotionally open and available, or at least tries to be. I wanna be that dude. I wanna prove to you that I ain't a lost cause. I can grow, I can be better, I can learn how to be softer with you if that's what you need, baby."

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze steady, smoldering with promise. I traced my finger along the hard, sharply sculpted angles of his face, enjoying the ticklish sensation of the few days growth on his jaw. Jeez, he was too handsome for his own good, the rugged, masculine appeal he emanated seemed almost effortless.

"I'm still learnin' how to love you," he said. "It won't be easy, but be patient with me, a'ight? Promise you won't regret it."

I grinned sheepishly, a bubbly sensation struck my heart. In his embrace, there was no pain, no worries, my mind was completely at peace. His touch mended the pain, soothed the aches in my joints, his closeness alone lessening the hardships of life.

Where has he been all my life? This was the love I've always been waiting for, praying for. Silently thanking God that he was still with me, I clung to him, my palms smoothing over his perfect set of rippling abs. He smiled, his lips wandered across my cheekbones, my eyelids, my chin, planting tiny, searing kisses on my skin. I beamed as he nuzzled my ear and nipped at my neck.

A hot blush crept over my cheeks. "I love you, Frank," I affirmed.

He lowered his head until our foreheads touched. " _I love you too_ ," he said, his eyes hardened with a lustful possessiveness. "You're mine. You know that, right?"

"Yes," I answered quick, obediently. Franklin had my heart in the palm of his hand, he was the only man I wanted. No one could ever compare.

"Good, 'cause for future reference, I get jealous easy. So I'm warnin' you now—no shady shit, a'ight?"

"Or what?" I teased. "You gonna spank me?"

"I'ma do a lot worse than that," he flashed a wicked smile. "We should get some sleep, baby. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Why? We'll be stuck here all day—"

"Hell nah we ain't. We goin' after Madrazo."

My jaw dropped. "We? What do you mean 'we'?"

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 **I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review, lemme know what you think! Your honest feedback and support is greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for reading! And I hope you all had an awesome halloween, because I totally did.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey guys! I hope I didn't have you waiting for this update for too long lol (sorry if I did). So I present you with fluff! And more fluff! Figured it would be a nice break from the craziness in the previous chapters, hope you enjoy it ;)**

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My dreamless slumber ended abruptly as the orange glow of sunrise glittered through the window blinds, casting threads of golden light across my weary face. The air was thick with the scent of coffee. I peered at the tiny digital clock on the nightstand and cringed. _It was only 7 o'clock!_ Way too early. I yawned, and turned over in search for Franklin's warmth, but the bed was empty. A cold chill swept over my skin. Where was my boyfriend?

Slow and sluggishly, I rubbed my eyes, and made a quick visual sweep of the room. Chop was sprawled on the floor, snoring soundly. Franklin hovered over the coffee maker with a steaming mug in hand, filled to the brim.

I raised my brows at his sudden change of clothes. He wore a pair of khaki joggers that fit his toned legs all too well, and a sleeveless white t-shirt that splendidly accented the dark, bulging muscles of his arms. The lustrous diamond chain dangling around his neck, and the designer labels adorning his attire came as no surprise. He was a proud man, bold and self-assured, unafraid to flaunt his hard-won wealth.

I adored his urban, flashy sense of style. He had a smooth, trendy swagger, a welcome change from the preppy jerks my friends and I used to drool over in Vinewood. Back then, I didn't know Franklin—a six-foot-two wall of solid muscle, and perfect embodiment of man—even existed. He was a huge upgrade from the scrawny, uppity pricks I dated in the past.

With a deep sigh of appreciation, I marveled at the work of impossible rugged beauty standing before me. Casually, he turned around, a half-smile quirked his full lips. "Mornin', baby," he said. "Slept a'ight?"

I smiled shyly, unnerved by the calm, lazy sensuality in his tone. He seemed relaxed, completely at ease and not the least bit irritable. The emergence of his gentle demeanor was rare and far between, considering all the crazy crap we've been through lately, but refreshing. I reached out to him lustfully. I needed him close, to bask in his good vibes while it lasted.

My outstretched arms drew him in like a magnet. He set his coffee aside, and leapt onto the bed playfully, the mattress bouncing below his weight. "You missed me?" he teased, slyly pulling down my warm sheets. His eyes drifted over my vulnerable body from head to toe, igniting a fire inside me.

"I always miss you," I flushed, pulse racing beneath his searing gaze.

With a devilish smirk, he rolled over, pinning me beneath him. A rush of heat swept over my cheeks once his powerful muscles surrounded me, my breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest. A fresh, intoxicating musk wafted from his freshly showered body, the clean, soapy scent was a delight to the senses.

Our eyes locked, his lips hovered over mine. "You only been awake for a minute now, and I already wanna fuck you," his voice was low and rough as it whispered across my face. "It ain't too early, is it? To fuck you senseless? To make that pussy feel good?"

A wave of nervousness hit me, his dark, vulgar words were enticing, yet intimidating. "Frank…" I fumbled, shyly, my stomach hardening. I couldn't help but reminisce over that night at the cabin, when we argued and had amazing, angry sex. The brooding, and hurtful, emotional distance he displayed afterwards—I was still scarred from it.

Observant as always, he took note of my hesitant speech, and the small frown spreading across my face. His eyes softened. "It's cool if you don't want to," he mumbled. "If you tired, go back to sleep."

I wrinkled my nose in protest. "It's not that, Frank. I'm just… scared. Of us having great sex, and you distancing yourself from me afterwards. I can't go through that again."

He grimaced. "Baby, I'm sorry 'bout that," his words slipped out painfully through clenched teeth. "I was goin' through some shit, my head wasn't in the right place, I was fucked up. I can't change what happened, but can you lemme make it up to you?" He kissed my cheek, and then the tip of my nose, the sweet, delicate persuasion of his lips warmed my heart. " _I love you,_ girl," he insisted. "I'll do anythin' prove it."

"Then stop pushing me away. I want you to let me in, I wanna feel close to you always, even when things get rough. It hurts when you're distant."

"Yeah, I know…" Slowly, his lips descended to meet mine. I drank in the sweetness of the tender kiss, our tongues intertwined, his hot, heavy breath ghosting my lips.

My heart fluttered. I loved the rare moments when he was gentle and affectionate like this. For someone usually so tough and hard-boiled, he had quite the soft side. It scantily emerged, but when it did, he was beautifully vulnerable and delicate lover.

A pang of longing shot through me. Instinctively, I opened my legs to him, wanting more, my fingers clenching his waist in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. He took my sensual invitation as an opportunity to be a tease, gently grinding himself against me. I whimpered, the heated friction of his throbbing cock brushing against my core through the confides of his joggers, tantalized me until I thought I would die with need. My heart slammed erratically with anticipation. He knew what he was doing, every expert caress and stroke of his callused hands on my skin sent jolts of sexual electricity through me.

I wanted him. _Badly._

I slipped a hand into his pants, greedily capturing his heavy length. He huffed a laugh at my impatience. "Damn, girl, ain't no such thing as takin' it slow with you, is there?"

"I blame you," I replied, stroking him. "It's not my fault you're so hot."

He flashed a toothy smile, his muscles tensing beneath my fingertips. "It's cool, we runnin' a little short on time anyway. Maybe we can fit in a quickie."

"Running short on time for what exactly?" I asked, my lips wandering up his flushed, corded neck.

"Clappin' _Madrazo_ ," he stated coldly, with an edge.

I froze, a pang squeezed my heart at the sound of that terrible name. I've never hated a person so much. Time and time again, he would infringe on my life, draining away my happiness like a bloodsucking parasite. Why couldn't I have just one day to relax? To breathe? I just couldn't get a break.

 _It wasn't fair._

Franklin leaned in to plant another kiss to my lips, but got a cheek instead as I withdrew from him. He winced, brows furrowed tight as he gaped at me. "Baby? You a'ight?"

I frowned, struggling to find the right words. "Everything is happening so fast!" I blurted in a breathy rush. "Less than twenty-four hours ago, we were being hunted in the forest by a group of blood-thirsty murderers! They effing shot you, remember? You and Chop were taken hostage, you almost died before my friggin' eyes—did any of that even affect you? Or is almost dying like a normal thing for you?"

He let out a short laugh and nodded. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

"It's not funny…" I sighed, my arms crossed over my chest. "I killed someone last night, and I feel horrible for it. I don't wanna do it again."

"Look, I know what went down last night was hard for you. If you wanna sit back and chill while I handle shit—"

"That's not what I want."

"A'ight, what you want, then?"

"I want you to stay here with me."

His expression abruptly grew flat, and he turned away, scooting to the edge of the bed. A tense silence filled the room. I glared at his back, fists clenched and seething with both anger and sexual frustration alike. Facing Madrazo by himself was suicide! "Stop being dumb, you can't take Madrazo on your own. I don't get why you're in such a rush to get yourself killed—"

"You think I give a fuck 'bout dyin'?" he snapped, his harsh outburst stopped me cold. "Shit, I put my life on the line for way fuckin' less in the past."

"I don't care about the past," I murmured, careful not to aggravate him further. "You have me now and… I care about you. I don't want you to die."

He glanced at me, his eyes softening. "If I don't make a move against this motherfucker, nothin' gets done. I'm tired of livin' in fear, hidin' and shit. This ain't me, Trace. I ain't the type of nigga to duck and run when shit hits the fan."

"What about the FIB? They're after Madrazo too, it's only a matter of time before they take him down, right?"

"Man, Madrazo's been up to the same shady ass underground bullshit for years. If the FIB ain't book his ass yet, they never will. Regardless, I ain't 'bout to put my faith in the motherfuckin' feds anyway, the only thing them dudes are serious 'bout is tax invasion and _sometimes_ terrorism. They ain't losin' a bit of sleep over Madrazo, and they damn sure don't give a fuck 'bout my black ass."

My heart clenched. "Frank, that's not true—"

"All them defenseless motherfuckers from the hood he been cappin' to get back at me—JB, Tonya—don't nobody give a shit 'bout them." His words were sharp, furious. "Madrazo been pumpin' drugs into the streets, and blastin' on black folks for years. It's all good for a nigga to get gunned down Los Santos, the feds don't give a fuck 'bout what goes down in the hood. They turned a blind eye to Madrazo's psychotic bullshit, until yo' white ass family got involved. Now, after all this fuckin' time, he's on the FIB's radar." He rolled his eyes. "The system is fucked up."

I was at a loss of words; a thick silence fell between us once again. I wobbled to the window and peeked through the blinds. The FIB was still outside, multiple black SUVs occupied the tiny hotel parking lot. Surely the agents had more important things to do than watch over us all day. Why did they care so much? Was it merely because of Dad's weird relationship with Dave? Or did they have ulterior motives? Call me paranoid, but something didn't feel right.

"JB and Tonya was crazy as shit," Franklin continued, his voice husky with despair. "But them crackheads were like family to me. Now they gone, 'cause of me, over some petty ass beef they ain't had nothin' to do with. And now you expect me to sit on my ass and pretend everythin' is fine and fuckin' dandy?"

I crawled across the bed to him, and threw my arms around his broad shoulders, squeezing him tight, hoping to ease the pain. "Rushing in to fight Madrazo alone, getting yourself killed… I-I can't…" My voice broke into a sob. Losing him was a very real, terrifying possibility if he wasn't careful. The thought of it constricted my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He turned to face me, openly revealing the tears welling in his pain-stricken eyes. I only caught a small glimpse of the vulnerability softening his features, eyelashes wet and lips trembling, before he quickly blinked the pain away and pressed his mouth into a firm line. "You right, I can't do it alone," he mused dejectedly. "Wherever the fuck Madrazo is, it's gon' be hard to get close to him with a price on my head. He probably got his own private army protectin' him too."

"There has to be a way," I mumbled, cupping his bearded cheek.

He shook his head, a faint trace of humor lit his eyes. "You know, before you came into my life, blastin' on fools I was beefin' with was ordinary shit. Didn't think twice 'bout it. If it had to be done, I did it."

"I'm guessing something changed?"

"Shit, everythin' changed. It's hard to leave your side without feelin' guilty as hell." An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Shit can't be healthy."

"But it feels right when we're together, doesn't it?" My mouth gravitated to his neck, placing soft, wet love bites to his skin. Muttering one word between each kiss, I asked, "Stay with me?"

He nodded in silent agreement, the tension in his muscles relaxing beneath my touch. He let out a deep sigh as my lips caressed his nape. My arms encircled his broad shoulders, drawing him down toward me. My head hit the pillow, and with the heat of his muscled body on top of me, I continued to ravage his throat with moist kisses. The taste of him was addictive. He drew a sharp breath, and shuddered with pleasure, a rosy blush spread across his cheeks.

I was learning what he liked, where to stroke and how to kiss him. The feeling of him shivering intensely from my caresses, feverish with lust for me, was so erotic— _so sexy._ I pulled at his shirt, tugging it off, just to admire his brown, savagely built muscles. They quaked and tightened, his flawless set of abs glistening with sweat.

I took my sweet time teasingly exploring the flushed tenderness of his neck, nibbling and sucking, coaxing low, husky growls from the depths of his throat…

He pulled away, propped on his knees, his bare, heaving chest towered over me. "Shit, what're you doin' to me?"

"Making you feel good," I smiled, hooking a finger around the waistband of his joggers. "Take it off. All of it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a playful, boyish grin.

He withdrew from the bed, kicking out of his heavy boots, slowly working off his pants… I gawked at him as his clothes hit the floor, my heart hammered wildly against my chest. He stood proudly before me, gloriously and shamelessly naked, except for the priceless jewelry adorning his wrist, ears, and neck, which dazzled glamorously in the morning light.

God, he was gorgeous, his bare form was the epitome of everything I had come to expect from him—power, endurance, and unprecedented strength. He had a body purely designed for female pleasure. How the heck did I get so lucky to have him all to myself?

He snickered wide and sheepishly, his cheeks framed by adorable dimples. "See somethin' you like?"

"You have no idea," I said, staring brazenly at him. "Now turn around, I wanna see your butt."

His brows arched in amusement. "Nah, lemme see yours first." He returned to me, his fingers fumbled with the button of my shorts.

"But you've seen my butt plenty of times," I frowned. "And you don't even like it."

"What?" He blinked, baffled. "Nah, it ain't that bad."

"Yes, it is. You hate my butt, admit it."

"I don't hate yo' ass. You puttin' words in my mouth, girl."

"Well, I know for sure you don't like it."

"Hold up, lemme take a good look at you…" Franklin slipped off my shorts and flipped me over onto my stomach. I froze, remaining perfectly still as my boyfriend closely inspected my butt with silent, scrutinizing attention. "Hmm…" He rubbed his bearded chin, brows furrowed in thought. My face burned with heat as he gaped at my behind for what felt like forever, his hands occasionally squeezing my sensitive cheeks. Finally, he said, "I dunno, girl, it looks fine to me. Ain't nothin' wrong with it."

I winced. "Seriously?"

"I mean, yo' ass is a little flat, kinda narrow, ain't got much of a shape, but it's soft. I can squeeze it and shit without feelin' no bones, at least. And sometimes, if I slap it at the perfect angle, at the right time, it might just jiggle—"

"Oh my god," I shoved him lightly, my expression pinched. "Thanks for the self-esteem boost, douche bag."

He huffed out a husky laugh and gathered me in his arms. For a moment, he studied me intently, his gaze riveted to my face, and then slowly, his eyes roamed over my figure. "Baby, you ain't got shit to feel insecure 'bout," he spoke with a light, quiet intensity, his blunt fingers threading through my hair. "You are fine as hell. From your head to your toes, inside and out—every inch of you is beautiful."

His sweet words set my face aflame, a blush seared my cheeks. He smiled, his dexterous fingers stripped away my shirt and bra tentatively, worshipfully, his amber eyes smoldering with desire. "I want you, Trace," he murmured, his lips explored my sensitive nipples with tantalizing tenderness. " _Fuck_ , I need you. It's drivin' me crazy…"

A fierce shiver rushed through me, his erotic, shameless confessions caused a distinct warmth to flood between my legs. Instinctively, I arched toward him as he caressed my breasts, writhing with every probing lick and gentle suck. He palmed my behind lightly, his strong hands trembling in a conscious effort to be delicate. Although his advances were hesitant, they were no less passionate than usual, everywhere he touched left a blaze of fire behind.

With every dragging kiss and languorous stroke, my mind had become more and more consumed by the ravenous need to be fucked. I was melting beneath him, enveloped snugly in his powerful embrace, and squirming violently with need. I was ready for him, wet and aching—the intense, strenuous craving drove me to the brink of tears.

My fingers raking his back, I pleaded to him through clenched teeth, " _Frank_ …"

He rose his head at the call of his name. "Tell me what you want, baby," his voice was raspy, seductively deep.

"I want you… inside me…" I buried my burning face against his broad shoulder. Despite how turned on I was, demanding sex so bluntly—from him, the man I was desperately in love with—was strangely nerve-racking.

My eagerness, or perhaps my awkwardness, seemed to amuse him, a smug, lopsided grin quirked his mouth. He dipped a hand between my thighs, and they fell open invitingly, shamelessly. "Relax, sweetie. I got you." He eased a finger into me.

I gasped, a moan pushed through my lips. My core instantly tightened, clenching around him, the seething heat washing over me dampened my skin with sweat. "You're tight," he stated, thrusting into me, slow and unhurried.

Clinging to his neck, my eyes closed as I rode his blunt fingers. I was desperate to reach my climax, and luckily for me, he was good with his hands—skilled and controlled, and exceptionally good at taking what he wanted with them.

His teeth gleamed in a wicked grin. "Feels good?"

"Yes, Frank…" My heart raced. He slipped in another finger, his thumb flicked my clit lightly. I gasped, a bolt of fire rushed through me. The sensation of being spread out naked, dominated, and fingered by a man so dangerously sexy—stirred a deep, sexual hunger within me. I clutched his throbbing cock. He was hard, warm, and pulsating. My palms fondled his impressive length from root to tip, slow and rough, just how he liked it.

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed, quivering violently, his face flushed red with lust. Despite his growing need, he managed to focus on my pleasure alone, massaging my clit in firm circles, sensually pushing his fingers in and out of me. I was melting, tension steadily building and threatening to burst, his intimate caresses whisking me so blissfully close to the brink of an orgasm…

"I need you to come for me, baby," Franklin murmured, soft and sweetly, his forehead nuzzled mine. "Come, so I can make love to you, girl. Don't hold back…"

I climaxed with a wrenching cry, my hips lifting to meet his hot, gratifying strokes. He seized my mouth in a long, exquisitely tender kiss as waves of pleasure swept over me. I moaned breathlessly against his lips, shuddering beneath him, his fingers pumping tirelessly into me.

The euphoric sensations pulsing through my body, and the lingering kiss we shared was intensely mind-numbing. Dazed, and limbs languid, my eyelids fluttered closed.

Franklin snorted a triumphant chuckle, "Trace, I ain't done with yo' fine ass yet." He smacked my behind lightly. "Wake up."

I beamed, wide and toothy, and clung to him the tightest I could. "I love you, Frank. I love you, I love you…"

His face, tense with desire, immediately softened. "Chill," he muttered, a deep rosiness staining his cheeks. "You makin' a nigga blush and shit…"

My heart swelled. How could a man so dauntless and strongly masculine, be so cute at the same time? "Do you love me too?" I asked teasingly.

"Fo' sho. There ain't no doubt 'bout it."

"How much?"

"I'ma show you how much," he clutched my hips, "by makin' you come—over and over, and over again…"

I trembled with anticipation, my gaze fixed to his sharply sculpted, rakishly handsome face. A cheeky grin flashed briefly, a set of perfectly white teeth dazzled against his glowing brown skin. His smoldering gaze glimmered with gold sparks, just as bright and absolutely mesmerizing as the day we met. It was hard to believe we were so close now, that he was about to make love to _me_ , of all people.

"Frank, you're beautiful," the words slipped through my lips without thought.

"Always strokin' my ego," he let out an appreciative sigh. "Glad we got somethin' in common, though." He inched closer, his thick erection nudged my entrance. "You ready for me?"

I nodded eagerly.

"Oh shit, almost forgot." His warmth suddenly left me. He shuffled through the pile of our discarded clothes in search for something, and I was lucky enough to steal a glance of his tight, impeccably formed ass. It was packed with muscle, round and totally squeezable, just like I imagined.

He returned to me with a condom wrapper in hand. I cringed at the sight of it. "What are you doing? We don't need that crap."

Franklin stilled. "What you mean, girl?"

"I want you, all of you—no stupid rubber in between." I snatched the condom from his grasp and tossed it.

"Baby, I don't think now is a good time to be takin' unnecessary risks."

"Why not? We took plenty of risks at the cabin."

His jaw clenched. "That was different. We ain't have no protection to use out there. But we do now. What's the real reason you so against it?"

I swallowed deeply beneath the heat of his probing stare. He was unnaturally still, waiting for an answer. "Well, it's just… I want you raw. The way you feel, when you come inside me, it's friggin' amazing. I know it's risky, and maybe I'm crazy, but I wouldn't take the chance of getting pregnant with anyone but you. I trust you. I want this. No regrets."

His eyes studied me with a curious intensity. Finally, the doubt and hesitation restricting his movement began to cease. He gripped the back of my knees, and spread my legs wide, capturing me.

Daring him with my gaze, I asked, "What are you waiting for?"

With deliberate gentleness, he eased the first bare inch inside me. He was hot, and hard as stone. I moaned, squirming breathlessly as he slid deeper, the agonizing burn of being stretched by his massive length always took some time to adjust to. He dropped his head to nuzzle my breasts, the lash of his tongue over my swollen nipples was an enticing distraction from the pain.

And soon, the discomfort had melted into sweet, rippling pleasure. I was dying for him to move, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, desperately fisting the bedsheets with the frantic need to climax.

Pinned down by his tight grip on my knees, my ankles dangling over his shoulders, he pulled out to the tip, and sunk back into me tortuously slow. "Fuck," he huffed between clenched teeth, quivering fiercely, veins protruding his bulging muscles. His gaze had darkened, dilated with dangerous possessiveness and savage lust. I could tell he was struggling to exercise restraint, the primal urge to brutally dominate my fragile body threatened his control.

But he fought the primitive temptation, and began a languid tempo, gliding in and out of me. In that moment, as he had completely devoted himself to pleasuring me, I had grown recklessly in love with him. He knew my body so well, his unyielding lunges skillfully stroking a distinctly sensitive spot inside me.

"Frank," my voice cracked into a sob, the wondrously hot, erotic sensations pulsing through me tore down my defenses. I was stripped bare, mentally and physically, my undying love and longing for him spilling out in waves. "Oh god… Right there… Don't stop… I need you…" I reached out, yearning for his touch.

Franklin took me into his arms with great tenderness, cradling my body close to his. "You feel so good, baby," he muttered softly. His rhythmic thrusts, although gradual and lazy, were relentless. I was close to the edge, an orgasm brewed inside me, just from the deep, soul-shattering lunges of his cock alone.

I loved the feeling of us being so intensely connected, our bodies drenched in sweat, and gasping breaths in unison. The scent of our sex was heavy in the air. He cupped my rear, effortlessly lifting me to meet each of his strokes, and I came hard, shaking with every heated jolt of delight that darted through me. He stared into my half-lidded eyes, watching me senselessly fall apart within his sturdy grasp, whimpering his name repeatedly.

Franklin's pace came to a halt, a tight groan of sweet agony escaped him. He dragged my drained body to the edge of the bed, and towered over me, clutching my hips firmly. "Love watchin' you come, Trace," he caressed my swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. "I'ma make you do it again."

"I can't," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. I was much too sore, too sensitive.

"You can. Try to relax, a'ight? Lemme take care of you." Carefully, he penetrated me again, slowly filling my wet, aching core with one thick inch at a time. His fingers massaging my clit in soft circles, he resumed making love to me. The smooth, delicate surging of his hips coaxed my raw, sensitive tissues, and before long, my nerves had reawakened, muscles tensing. A tiny moan caught in my throat as sensations curled through me like a tidal wave.

Everything tightened, his expertly deliberate thrusts pushed me over the edge yet again. I cried out, swept away by scorching heat and unbridled bliss. Shudders wracked my body. Teeth grinding audibly, Franklin's composure began to crumble, his attentive pace quickened into frantic pounds. Once, then twice—on the third pump, he spurted his warm, thick load into me.

Wrung out and delirious with ragged emotion, I stilled, my chest heaving for breath. Franklin slumped beside me, gasping for air. I had no idea how long we wordlessly lingered in bed, disorientated, my entire body tingling.

"Shit, I can't keep doin' this," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Every time I bust a nut in you, I feel guilty as a motherfucker afterwards."

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I shouldn't have pressured you."

Franklin leaned close, his mouth consumed my cheeks in a frantic rush of big, ticklish kisses. I let out a squeal and giggle, his playfulness broke the tension of the moment.

"I get it," he said. "In the moment, it does feel good fillin' you up, I ain't gon' lie. I'm flattered you want my moody ass to be your baby daddy, but we gotta get you on the pill. At least until Madrazo is out of the way and we get our shit together." He gathered me in his arms, clasping my pleasantly aching body to his. "Can you do that? For me?"

I sighed, gazing appreciatively at his gorgeously rugged features. He was everything I ever imagined, and more than I dreamed of. "I'd do anything for you."

A shy, delighted smile spread across his face. "The feelings mutual." He kissed my nose, then both my eyes, and finally, my mouth. "I need a shower," he murmured against my lips. "Take one with me?"

"Yes!" A bubbly sensation struck my stomach. I seriously needed a shower, and the thought of taking one with Franklin sounded awesome. "Can we go to Bean Machine after?"

He clasped my hands and helped me to my feet. "Girl, I'll take you anywhere you want, assumin' the FIB is cool with it. Them dudes have been on us like flies on shit."

"Madrazo has too," I smiled sadly.

He scoffed. "Yeah, don't remind me. Pisses me the fuck off whenever I think 'bout the shit he's put us through."

"At least we still have each other."

He nodded, and drew me into a warm, luxurious hug. "We back in the heart of the city, surrounded by grimy motherfuckers willin' to do anythin' for some paper. FIB protectin' us or not—shit finna get even more dangerous from here on. Promise me you'll stick close, that you won't do nothin' stupid." He eyed me gravely, the lines on his face etched with deep concern. "I _don't_ wanna lose you."

"I promise," I melted into his protective embrace, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. Despite the impending danger lurking ahead, the nagging sting of my worries vanished whenever his strong arms enveloped me. His touch mended my bruised soul and rejuvenated my spirit. I was ready to face whatever life threw at me and conquer the day. With my boyfriend at my side, anything was possible.

* * *

 **I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! Was there enough fluff? Too much fluff perhaps? Leave a review, let me know what you think! Next chapter will resume the usual chaotic, anxiety filled pacing, so be on the lookout for that! I love you guys! And please, don't be afraid to leave feedback, I seriously appreciate your support, thank you! :D**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey y'all. I'm back with another update, filled with all the usual GTA silliness you know and love. Let's get to it :)**

* * *

Bean Machine was active and bustling with teenagers. They crowded around the laminated bistro tables, leaning over their espresso drinks, while chatty couples crammed into the booths at the back. Franklin and I ordered breakfast, butter croissants and lattes, and settled for a table in the front by the windows. The morning sun beamed through the glass, warming my skin with its golden glow.

Franklin didn't seem interested in eating, his attention was fixed on the FIB van outside, double-parked in the busy street, directly across from us.

I sipped my pumpkin spice latte gingerly. "Would you stop staring? You're making this weird."

He shook his head and nipped at the edge of his croissant. "It's fuckin' weird whether I stare or not."

"Can you at least _try_ to relax? Yes, I know it's strange being stalked, especially by the authorities considering you're black, but everything is fine. They're just doing their job—protecting us."

He scoffed. "This ain't got nothin' to do with race, girl."

"Really?" I snickered mockingly. "It doesn't have anything to do with you hating the police either?"

"Nah, it don't. And shame on yo' little white ass for thinkin' so." He took a sip of his latte with a grimace. "I just don't like bein' followed, and neither should you."

"I don't like it, but what choice do we have? We both know what Madrazo is capable of. He put us through hell, Frank. At this point, I'll take whatever protection we can get."

"We survived everythin' that motherfucker threw at us by our damn selves. The feds wasn't nowhere to be found when shit went down. It was always just me and you—fuck everybody else."

"You're totally right, it's always been just you and me." I reached across the table and cupped his hand. "And you know what? I wouldn't change it for the world."

"For real? Even though there's a crazy ass Mexican drug lord tryna waste us?"

"Yep. Totally. I try not to sweat the small details. It's our love that truly matters, you know? Love triumphs all."

"Uh-huh," he muttered sarcastically, a smirk quirked his lips.

"Seriously. Haven't you seen the movies? Read books? Good always beats evil. Love always overcomes hate. In conclusion, the bad guys don't stand a chance because we have the power of love on our side—"

He cackled, loud and bitterly. "The power of love ain't finna stop Madrazo from puttin' a cap in yo' ass, baby."

"You're such a realist," I rolled my eyes.

"Ay, I got respect for reality, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in love. Love is real, and it makes you do some crazy shit. I took an arrow for you without thinkin' twice 'bout it."

"Oh yeah," I glanced at his shoulder. "Thanks again for that."

He shrugged. "Nah, it's cool. I'd do it again if I had to."

"Frank, you don't have to sacrifice yourself for me, ever."

"Sure I do. That feelin' of dread, when you know you 'bout to lose somethin' you can't live without…" He sighed and took a bite of his croissant. "There's nothin' you wouldn't do to save that one thing you need most, you feel me?"

I beamed at my adorably vulgar, bad-tempered boyfriend. He had issues, lots of issues, but he was the perfect guy for me.

The sudden ringing of Franklin's phone almost made me jump. He slipped it from his pocket and stared at the screen for a moment before picking it up. A high, hysterical cry blurted from the other end of the line, so loud and shrill with terror, it chilled me to the bone.

Franklin's eyes widened. "Auntie D? Is that you? Why the fuck you screamin' like that, girl?" For a moment, he listened, puzzled. "Somebody tryna kill you? Well why the fuck you callin' me? Call 911!"

A tingling shiver ran up my spine. "Frank? What's happening?"

He replied with a shrug and continued to listen intently to the hysterical voice. "What? Okay, a'ight, I'm comin'." He clutched my hand and jumped stiffly to his feet, yanking me up with him. In one quick stride, we were out the door, and back into the famously lively streets of Vinewood Boulevard.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked as Franklin dragged me toward his sports sedan. "Why are we in such a rush?"

"My aunt," he replied, his jaw clenched. "I think some motherfucker tryna pinch her."

"Again?" I sighed. "Who's trying to kidnap her now?"

"I don't know, but let's get on this shit and find out." He threw open the car door and hopped inside. I scrambled into the passenger seat beside him. Before I managed to strap on my seat belt, he stamped his foot down on the gas, pulling out onto the busy road.

* * *

There was bile on the tip of my tongue by the time Franklin slammed on the breaks. We left a trail of dust in our wake, zooming past stoplights, weaving in and out of traffic at a frightening speed—it was a miracle we hadn't crashed, or attracted any attention from the police. And it was an even bigger miracle that the FIB managed to keep up with us, their black van tailed close behind the entire way here.

I wobbled out of the car, holding my queasy stomach. The narrow street before me was a river of red-brick row houses, set on a slight rise, all new and crammed together, dazzling beneath the morning sun. It seemed to be a quiet, upscale neighborhood, numerous luxury cars adorned the spotless lane. One house in particular, a two-story, biggish box of bland gray that stood out greatly from the rest, had booming voices seeping through the white leaded double-hung windows.

What was going on in there?

Franklin drew a handgun from the waistband of his joggers. "Wait here," he demanded.

I grabbed his toned arm, holding him still. "Take me with you."

Surprisingly, he didn't shoot down my request. He merely nodded, and clasped my hand, leading me across the neatly trimmed lawn. The front door was slightly lopsided and already open to a crack. The frame was damaged, and the deadbolt lock had been crushed with blunt force. Someone had broken the entrance right off the hinges!

An earsplitting scream echoed from within. I yelped, my pulse roaring in my ears. Franklin clutched the knob and pushed open the door, his gun raised high. A blast of cold air streamed past us as we inched inside.

We stepped into an expansive corridor with a grand, U-shaped staircase, the handrails embellished with a glossy gold trim. Antique stone sculptures and aged oil paintings decorated the polished brown walls. Ornate chandeliers hung from the enormously tall, black tiled ceiling. Despite the lack of natural lighting, the marble floors gleamed through the shadows.

Although the Gothic architecture was rather unnerving, whoever owned this place had to be filthy rich. There were old paintbrushes and blank canvases propped against the wall. There must be a painter living here.

The screaming grew louder, the shuffling noise of furniture being shoved around shook the walls. "Auntie?" Franklin shouted, his voice echoing through spacious house. "You in here?"

"Franklin!" Denise answered his call with a frantic wail.

His grip on my hand tightening, he stormed toward the uproar of chaos. We climbed the steps and swerved into a hallway. All the doors were shut tight, except for the wide-open master bedroom at the end. There were two men fighting—a white dude and a black guy—violently grappling and tossing one another about the room. Franklin sped down the hall and stopped midstride at the door. I peeked over his broad shoulder at the commotion.

Denise stood helplessly in the corner as the men fought, completely naked with only a thin bedsheet covering her skin. One of the men engaged in the brutal scuffle was naked as well, his junk flinging around as he brawled. The other guy was fully clothed, wearing a baggy green jersey and jeans. He looked super familiar, but it wasn't until he was thrown across the room, his lanky body colliding with a dresser and breaking through it—did I realize it was Lamar.

"That's all you got, bitch ass bitch?" Lamar taunted, teeth clenched in pain as he stumbled to his feet.

"Get out of my house, ya fuckin' wanker," the naked man spat. He was a husky dude, with a gaunt face and big, ugly freckles spanning across his hook nose. "Denise is my woman. You had your chance and ya blew it!"

Lamar scoffed. "Shut the fuck up, lil' shrimp dick, cracker ass bitch. You done fucked with the wrong nigga today. Prepare to get that naked ass whooped, fool!"

Lamar hurled himself recklessly at the naked man, but Franklin flung between them, and shoved Lamar back.

"What the fuck is goin' on up in here?" Franklin asked, his hard glare shifting from Lamar to Denise.

"I caught this motherfucker tryna dick down my girl, man!" Lamar shouted.

"I ain't your woman, you ol' nappy head fool," Denise snapped. "You ain't no damn good, Lamar! I'm sick and tired, tired and sick, of wasting my precious time with you broke ass, dope slinging, sleeping on the couch at yo' mommas house ass niggas—"

"Stop trippin', girl," Lamar retorted. "You know the only reason I ain't move out yet is 'cause I love my momma. I got paper, a nigga just ain't emotionally ready to move yet."

"Bullshit! If you got money, where it at? I ain't never seen it."

Lamar yanked his wallet from his jean pocket and passed it to Franklin. "Ay, Frank, open that shit and show yo' auntie how much bread I got. Show her how crazy a nigga be flossin' out here."

Franklin whipped open the wallet and drew a handful of singles. "This nigga only got five motherfuckin' dollars."

"What?" Lamar snatched the wallet back and stared inside. "Fuck, I must have left my paper at home—"

"My biological clock is ticking," Denise said, her hand cocked on her hip. "And it's about time I find a real man who can take care of me. I can't take this shit no more, I'm getting too damn old for this nonsense." She glanced at Franklin. "Boy, can you please escort yo' dumb ass friend back to the poor house he came from?"

"Yeah, get 'em outta here," the naked guy added, standing proudly, his polished forehead gleaming in the light. "Try some shit like this again, and I'll press charges—"

Lamar shivered, a gleam of jealous hatred flashed in his eyes. Fists clenched, he attempted to push past Franklin, his vicious glare set on the naked guy. But Franklin thwarted him, his bulky arms ensnaring Lamar in place.

"It ain't worth it, man," Franklin grumbled, shoving Lamar into the hall and blocking the door. "Nigga, calm the fuck down."

"This some bullshit!" Lamar spun away sharply, and in a cold, shaking fury, he kicked the wall. **_Thud!_** The house quaked beneath his rage. "Fuck!"

I flinched, and instinctively sprang forward to catch Franklin's arm. He glanced at me and frowned. "It's a'ight," he whispered, the gentleness in his voice comforted my jumpy nerves.

"I'ma kill that motherfucker!" Lamar barreled down the steps, continuing to rant and rave. We hurried after him. "This ain't over! Wait til' I get my strap, I'm comin' back to bust on this fool."

The moment we stepped outside onto the lawn, Franklin swerved in front of Lamar, the two them met eye-to-eye. "Why you always gotta act a fool, man?" Franklin asked. "Why you so motherfuckin' aggressive?"

"The fuck you mean, Frank?" Lamar barked, his eyes glazed and bloodshot. "Aggression is a natural reaction when you catch a dude fucking your girl—"

"My auntie ain't yo' girl no more, stupid. She left yo' crazy ass, dog." He laid a hand on Lamar's shoulder. "Look homie, I get it. It's a fucked up situation, you got every right to be mad, but it is what it is, you feel me? You gotta man the fuck up and accept it, before you end up doin' some dumb shit you finna regret."

"Nah, fuck all that." Lamar began to pace back and forth. "I ain't accepting shit. Yo' auntie is feelin' me, man. She just playin' hard to get, fucking other dudes just to see if I'll get mad and shit. It's like foreplay for her, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"That's some really messed up foreplay," I muttered.

Franklin shook his head. "Dog, you are out of yo' motherfuckin' mind. You done finally fuckin' lost it, nigga." He paused, his gaze surveyed Lamar solemnly. "You look doped the fuck up, yo' eyes all droopy and shit. You on that X, ain't you?"

"Nigga, I'm on X fifty percent of the motherfuckin' time," Lamar replied. "This shit ain't new. I'm straight. It's you that's trippin', captain save a ho ass nigga. If it wasn't for you, I woulda wasted that fool. You shoulda stayed yo' nosey ass home, man. You ain't shit, Frank."

"Bitch, you should be thankin' me. Ain't no one else willin' to put up with yo' bullshit—"

Lamar's pocket began to vibrate. He wrenched out his phone and gaped at the screen. "Oh shit," he said, his eyes widening. "Ay, you know them Vagos dudes that popped JB and Tonya? I just got an anonymous tip from the streets—they on the set right now, Vespucci Beach."

"What?" Franklin furrowed his brows. "You for real?"

"I wouldn't joke about this, my nig'. C'mon, let's go bust on some eses for our dead homies."

"A'ight, fuck it," Franklin said, his eyes grew wide and alert with righteous determination. "We rollin'. I'll call Lester on the way there, make sure we gettin' the right niggas." He glanced at me and pointed at the FIB van with a tilt of his chin. "Baby, as much as I hate to say this, I'ma need you to stick close to the feds for a while. I'ma meet you back at the hotel after I handle some shit, a'ight?"

I glowered at him defiantly. "I don't think we should split up. You don't have to—"

" _I have to_ ," he asserted, his tone a mixture of tenderness and unmoving tenacity.

A lump formed in my throat as I tried to find the right words to change his mind. Truthfully, I wasn't worried about him. He was a man who could handle any situation and remain unfazed. Deep down, I knew he'd be okay.

But I wouldn't. It was me who needed him. Emotionally, mentally, and physically. I begged him to stay with me, shamelessly, desperately. "Frank, can't you just take me with you? I promise I won't get in the way. I-I don't feel safe with anyone but you."

His expression grew grim as he listened to my pleading. "Baby, I'm 'bout to go fill some eses with bullet holes. I rather not kill dudes in front of you unless I have to."

"I rather you not kill anyone at all," I muttered. "You're murdering people for revenge. What makes you different from Madrazo?"

He winced as if my words had stung like needles. "That psychotic motherfucker is tryna kill yo' ass, and I'm doin' everythin' I can to protect you," he whispered harshly. "That's the motherfuckin' difference."

"You're my boyfriend, you're supposed to be my protector. But to everyone else, you're a murderous maniac—"

He responded with a glare so brutal and hostile, my breath hitched. A dark, amber fire blazed in his eyes, and I stumbled back at the sight of it.

"Ay," Lamar tapped Franklin's tense shoulder. "It's now or never, nigga."

"I'll be back soon as I can, a'ight?" Franklin muttered flatly.

"Bye asshole," I spat. Trying to ignore the ache that had settled behind my heart, I stamped toward the FIB van, leaving the boys to commence their murder spree without me.

* * *

I laid in bed, as still as a rock, my eyes fixed to the digital clock. It was a quarter after ten p.m., and Franklin still wasn't here. Either my boyfriend was dead, or he had completely forgotten about me. Or maybe, he just didn't want to come back. He probably needed space, considering how angry I made him before we split up…

The hotel room was dead silent, except for Chop's occasional panting. I glanced at Franklin's side of the bed and sighed. The sheets still smelled like him, the familiar woodsy musk served as a constant, painful reminder of his absence.

Unshed tears blurred my vision. How was it possible to love someone so intensely, so completely, in such a short time? Every second we spent away from one another felt like hours. I must be going crazy! It wasn't healthy to be so attached to someone. Ugh, why couldn't he had just stayed with me? Why was he so vengeful? It was almost like he enjoyed killing people just as much as Dad did.

Our relationship would be easier if we had ordinary lives and people weren't always trying to kill us. I wasn't strong like Franklin. I was no good in a gunfight. I couldn't stare death in the eye and remain composed. He promised he would protect me, but instead, he pushed me aside like dead weight to seek his stupid revenge.

"This sucks!" I blurted, clutching his pillow and tossing it across the room.

Chop leaped onto the bed and towered over me, his head tilted to the side in curiosity.

"Your master is a jerk," I mumbled wistfully.

He growled quietly, seemingly in disagreement.

"It's true," I retorted. "I know he's upset about his friends dying, but more violence can't be the answer. It's like a never-ending cycle of everyone friggin' murdering each other. I don't understand how he does it. How does he manage to sleep at night with so much blood on his hands?"

Chop responded with a whine, and inched close, cuddling up to me. I hugged his fluffy frame, stroking his soft black coat, the protective warmth of such a big, compassionate creature comforted me.

"I-I miss how simple my life used to be," I murmured, tears choking my voice. "I miss my mom, and my crazy dad, and my stupid brother, Uncle T… My Vinewood friends were pretty cool too. They were fake, and all secretly hated me, but at least they were fun to party with…"

Chop's ears abruptly shot up, and he scrambled out of my arms. He trotted across the room to a paper lying on the floor. He captured it between his teeth, and returned to me, dropping it in my lap.

"What's this?" I asked, hunching over and inspecting the paper closely. It was a business flyer for a nightclub called Stargaze on Vinewood Boulevard. "Oh, I always wanted to go here. Drove past it dozens of times with Dad, but never went inside—"

"Woof!" Chop wagged his tail, staring at the flyer and panting heavily.

I gazed at him blankly, my eyebrows scrunched up. I had a feeling Chop was trying to tell me something. "What is it, boy?"

He scooped the club flyer back into his mouth and darted for the door. He clawed at the knob, and then glanced back at me.

"You want to go somewhere?" I asked. Chop nodded, waving the club flyer between his teeth. "To the club?"

"Woof!" Chop barked energetically, his paws tapping against the floor.

"Dogs aren't allowed in clubs," I grinned. "What would you even do there?"

He stood straight up and began to bounce side to side on his hind legs, his paws waving through the air. I snorted a laugh. Chop dancing was the most adorable thing I've seen in weeks. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. I seriously wasn't in the partying mood, but how could I say no to cool moves like that?

Besides, a night out in the city could be a good opportunity to get my mind off things. With the FIB as my personal bodyguards, what could go wrong?

I surveyed myself critically in the bathroom mirror and cringed. My hair was a disheveled mess, and my face was red and blotched with tears. Chop's coat was dull and slightly matted as well. If there was any hope of Chop and I getting into a prestigious club in Vinewood, we totally had to look the part.

There was a knock at the door. I froze, a pang of caution erupted in my chest.

"Ms. DeSanta?" a clear, authoritative voice seeped beneath the door. "This is Agent Smith, I'm with the FIB—"

"Slide your badge under the door," I demanded. "Then we can talk."

He did as I commanded without question. I scrutinized the golden badge and opened the door to a crack, making sure the pale, clean-shaven face and black shades on the other side matched the ID card. His sandy hair was perfectly slicked back and shiny, not a single strand in disarray. "What do you want?" I asked.

"Agent Dave Norton has assigned me with the very delicate task of ensuring your survival until Martin Madrazo is apprehended and detained," his voice carried a thick, British accent, and was strangely robotic, just as stiff as his black suit. "Do you need anything?"

"Some peace of mind would be great," I sniffed. "Have you seen my boyfriend?"

"Negative." He withdrew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to me. "But your safety and comfort is my top priority, Ms. DeSanta. If there is absolutely anything you need, it's my mission to provide it."

"Um, thanks," I wiped my teary face with the cloth. "Can you wash and blow dry my dog while I do my hair and makeup? And give us a lift to a nightclub?"

"Uh…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry?"

"It's your job to do what I want, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Like a slave?"

"No, not like a slave, Ms. DeSanta," he muttered, his voice calm yet patronizing. "If you have a request that is reasonable and does not cause you or I harm, then I'll oblige."

"Wait," I said. "Have you ever groomed a dog before?"

"No, but I have been in close proximity with one or two before—"

"Great!" I returned his badge and allowed him inside. Chop snarled viciously at the sight of him.

"Bloody hell!" Agent Smith stumbled back. "That's a big dog! Does it bite?"

"I don't think _he_ likes cops. But that won't be a problem for you, will it?"

"N-no, not at all, Ms. DeSanta," he straightened his carefully knotted silk tie, and formed a tight smile. "I'll be sure to get it done in a timely fashion."

* * *

It was a breezy night, stars twinkled above the city lights, a pale crescent moon slipped in and out of view behind the clouds. Downtown Vinewood was bustling with speeding taxis and limousines dropping people off at the curbs. Horns blared, sirens wailed in the distance, people surged the sidewalks in crowds, heels clacking against the pavement.

Agent Smith maneuvered carefully through the multi-lane traffic, the SUV moving at a snail's pace.

"Jeez, this traffic is awful," I grumbled from the backseat, smoothing my fingers through Chop's shiny, freshly washed fur.

"We could turn around," Agent Smith suggested. "Go back to where we came from and remain hidden like most sensible people do when they make enemies with ruthless kingpins—"

"No thanks. I'm sick of that stupid hotel. Chop and I are gonna go have some fun, and Madrazo isn't going to stop us. All I want is a night out in the city like a normal girl. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Yes, in fact, it is. There are ways to have fun without being stupid, without leaving yourself exposed."

I rolled my eyes. This guy was a real piece of work. "Ew, you sound like my dad."

"Your father must be wise."

"My father is a lunatic," I snapped.

He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You seem perturbed. Is there something you would like to talk about?"

"With you? No effing way. I don't even know you."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

Finally, the car drifted to a halt before the infamous nightclub—a building of triple glazed windows and rustic concrete so high it touched the sky, with bright signs of golden light that flickered like fireflies in the night. There was a line of people waiting outside to gain entry, and a heavy-built bouncer guarding the entrance, checking IDs.

"How are you planning to get the mutt in?" Agent Smith asked. "And _why_ are you planning to get the mutt in?"

"You're going to help us get in, Mr. Secret Agent Man," I said. "Because good boys like Chop deserve to have fun too. And I kinda felt bad leaving him at the hotel by himself. Going here was his idea, after all."

"What do you mean it was 'his idea'?"

"Less talking, more doing." I pushed the car door open and climbed out with Chop close behind.

Agent Smith took the lead, ignoring the line and treading his way purposely to bouncer. "FIB," he said, flashing his badge. "Let us through."

"I don't think so," the bouncer sneered. "You ain't got a warrant."

"You either step aside, or we can take a trip across town to the bureau. You'll be detained indefinitely, in your own four-by-four cell, taking shits in pails and getting anally shagged by every agent on site until the day you die—just like we do to the terrorists."

The bouncer inhaled sharply, the blood draining from his face. "Look, I'm just doing my job. I don't want no trouble with the feds." He cautiously stepped aside. "Enjoy your night, alright?"

"Much appreciated," Agent Smith strode past the bouncer.

"We're with him," I muttered, scrambling inside with Chop at my heels.

A blast of techno music hit me, the upbeat rhythm infusing with the crowd, transforming their movements into a wild cluster of energized bumps and jerks. Strobe lights pulsed over the dance floor in a colorful array of neon blue, acid green and gold. I glanced eagerly ahead at the bar. I was way too sober to bust a move—I needed a drink.

We weaved our way through the warm, jerking bodies. A river of delirious, bubbly faces crowded the bar, their conversations of drunken gibberish competing with the techno music. I squeezed into a space at the end of the bar and waved at the bartender.

"Three tequila shots," I shouted over the music, as Chop stood up on his hind legs, hunching over the bar. "And some nachos for my dog, please."

"Water for me," Agent Smith added, gliding beside me.

The bartender nodded and turned away.

"You don't drink?" I asked.

"Not on the job," he slipped off his glasses, revealing smoky-blue eyes framed by thick, ebony lashes. His face was clean-cut and perfectly unblemished, but also unremarkable—neither handsome or ugly, just average. He never smiled or laughed, his expression always blank and thin lips pinched with focus. There were women staring at him from across the bar though, makeup-caked cougars twice his age, fluttering their eyes over his elegant suit, and delicately primed blonde hair.

With an inconspicuous tilt of my chin, I pointed at the cougars. "Those chicks over there are totally checking you out."

"I'm well aware," he muttered, his pale cheeks heating in a blush as if he had never been hit on by a girl in his life. Despite our lively setting, all the smiling faces and good vibes circling around us, he remained quiet and tight-lipped, tapered fingers folded over his lap and expression as serious as a heart attack.

Sure, he was kinda boring and had a stick up his ass, but I could get used to having my own personal bodyguard following me around. And the fact that he was a special agent really sweetened the deal, considering how he handled that bouncer earlier.

Undoubtedly, there were thousands of other places he'd rather be right now, but he stuck by my side anyway. Probably because he was being paid to, but still. He didn't abandon me so he could murder people. He didn't constantly argue or tell me what I could or couldn't do. His accent wasn't half bad either.

I sighed. Who am I kidding? No one in the world could compare to Franklin. _God, love is pain._ I missed my boyfriend so much. My knees grew weak and my pulse cleared down to my toes at the thought of him alone. The argument we had shortly before I left him with Lamar, when I spitefully compared him to Madrazo—I had a clear mental picture of the obvious hurt that flashed across his face from the insult.

I swallowed hard over the sudden lump in my throat. How could I say something so heartless? Like a spoiled baby, I wanted to hurt him for denying me. If only I could go back in time and take it back…

The bartender returned with our order, and Chop finished his nachos in practically one gulp. I drowned my regret in alcohol, burning my throat with shot after shot.

"You should take it easy with the tequila," Agent Smith declared, raising his voice over the blaring noise. "Alcohol poisoning is the fourth leading cause of death for young adults in Los Santos, the first being gun violence, followed by suicide, then drunk driving—"

"Shut up," I grumbled, guzzling another drink. "You are such a Debbie Downer."

"If you'd like the paramedics to carry you out of here on a stretcher, be my guest. Some dirty cop on Madrazo's payroll will probably smother you to death with a pillow the moment you get there."

"I'll smother you to death with a pillow right now if you don't stop talking—"

A finger tapped my shoulder. I whirled around, bumping into a tall, willowy woman with a flowery dress and leather jacket. We both muttered an apology in unison, and then her rouged eyes shifted to Chop.

"I am so in love with your dog," she said, her voice was silly and slurred. "He is so cute! What's his name?"

"Chop," I said. "He's my boyfriend's dog."

"Oh my god, I've never seen a dog in a club before!" She reached down to pet him. Chop slipped his head beneath her flowy dress, sniffing her butt. "Oh! He's feisty! What is he doing here?"

"He came to dance," I answered matter-of-factly. "Show her your moves, Chop."

Chop stood straight up and preformed his signature dance moves at my command. Whistling and cheering commenced all around us, numerous voices shouted praise from the crowd. Chop was soaking up all the attention, executing various dog tricks suggested by the masses. I watched the show through hazy eyes, a lopsided smile plastered on face, my head lolled on a nearby stranger's shoulder.

All those shots I drank were really starting to sink in. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a grey-haired cougar in a tight dress inching close to Agent Smith, her gnarled fingers toying coyly with his tie.

"Even elderly women have needs," she said seductively. "I use the ladies' room five times a night, six on weekends, but sometimes I have accidents. I keep a urinal near the bed, just in case. I'd love to have a dashing young man like yourself around to help me clean the potty every now and then. You wouldn't turn down an old helpless woman, would you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Agent Smith asked with a sneer. "You are a dirty old woman, and you should be ashamed. Have you no decency? Trying to seduce men at a sleazy nightclub instead of spending time with your neglected grandchildren—"

"Oh, why do young fellers always play so hard to get?" She popped open the clutch of her purse, revealing a thick heap of hundred-dollar bills. "Everybody has a price. What's yours?"

He stared at the money and sighed. "For a godless hag, your persistence is admirable, and I am most regrettably tempted to take your offer—"

"Tracey!" someone blurted out my name. I snapped my head in the direction of the voice. A young boy emerged from the crowd, blonde curls dangling freely around his shoulders. He was short and scrawny, probably below the legal age to drink, but his round baby-face was strangely familiar. "Holy fuck!" he squealed, beaming broadly. "It's you! Tracey fucking DeSanta in the flesh! Do you remember me? Huh? Do you?"

"Er, yo-you look… kinda familiar," I replied, my speech lazy and slurred. Although my sight was fuzzy, his disfigured nose stood out like a sore thumb. It was grossly crooked and bruised, as if he had gotten into a fight not long ago and lost—badly. "Where did we meet and stuff?"

"Like a month ago, I kinda broke into your house and tried to kidnap you—"

I blinked. "You did what?"

"But none of that crap really matters, everyone does dumb shit from time to time, you know? Listen, I got some friends that really want to meet you. They're waiting outside the club. C'mon." He snatched my hand and dragged me into the crowd.

"Wait!" I shouted, stumbling through the hot, sweaty maze of bodies. The room was spinning like crazy. "What about my friends?"

The blonde boy whirled around to face me, his beaming face grew dead somber. "Remember that really mean black guy who punched me in the face, broke my nose, and beat up all my friends? Is he here?"

"You mean my boyfriend?" My heart fluttered at the thought of Franklin.

His lips curled in disgust. "Oh, fuck me, you're dating _him_?"

"Did you know he's in a gang? That's effing bad ass, right? He could take on like, ten dudes at once. No offense, but you and your friends stood no chance in friggin' hell."

"Whatever. You could do better."

"I love him," I declared proudly. "He's like, _so_ hot, and strong. I had sex with him this morning—"

" _Enough_!" he blurted sharply, gripping my shoulders tight.

I gasped, my joints ached at his rough touch. _This guy is nuts!_ "Get off, dickweed!" I shoved him back and hobbled away.

"Wait!" He snatched my arm, holding me in place. "I'm trying to protect you! There's some Mexican dudes here asking around for you, they have these huge ass machetes! They said they were going to hack you into pieces!"

My heart sped up, pounding painfully against my chest. I bit off the urge to scream, and asked, "Guys with… machetes? Are you sure they were Mexican?"

"I'm one-hundred percent sure they were Hispanic. Or Native American. Maybe black. Could pass as white, I dunno. It's kinda dark in here."

"Listen asshole, I can totally take care of myself." I tried my hardest to jerk from his grip, but he wouldn't let go!

Agent Smith appeared by my side and captured the blonde boy's wrist. In one precise, swift and highly skilled movement, he twisted the boy's arm and punched his elbow. **_Snap_!** My stomach lurched at the agonizing noise of his bones shattering beneath the impact of the merciless blow. The most primal, hysterical cry I've ever heard filled the air, overpowering the thumping techno music. People turned their heads in shock. I almost felt sorry for the touchy creep.

"It's time to go," Agent Smith said, stamping toward the exit with a tight grip on my hand. I could barely walk with the world so blurry and spinning. I bumped into just about everyone in sight before we made it back outside, Chop scampering after us.

Our SUV was parked across the street, but a group of seedy looking thugs were circling around it, their skin heavily inked with gang-affiliated tattoos. There was even more storming down the block from our left and right, quickly closing in, their hard eyes locked on us. Goosebumps rippled up my back.

 _Holy crap._

"Oh dear," Agent Smith mumbled under his breath. He spun around, pulling me into a nearby alleyway.

Only a dim light trickled through the narrow gap of an alleyway. Still trapped in a drunken haze, I hobbled as quickly as I could through the blackness, clinging to the brick walls enclosed around us. The scent of rotting garbage stung my nostrils with every heaving breath I took. I stole a glance behind us. Hulking bodies cloaked in shadow were steadily advancing, laughing menacingly, enjoying the chase.

"Leave us alone!" My frenzied screams tore through the air. "Help! Someone call the cops—"

I stumbled into a trash can hidden in the darkness and lost my footing, tumbling hard to the pavement. My palms scraped the concrete, drawing blood. I yelped, waves of pain exploded through my body. Chop darted to me, whimpering, his big head nudging me to get up. I struggled to stand, but my weak knees wouldn't move, the footsteps behind us getting louder and louder…

A tight fist constricted my heart. I was going to die here, but I'd be damned if I let Chop die too.

"Go Chop!" I choked out, tears welling in my eyes. "I'm dead weight, just go!"

He snarled and licked my face, refusing to leave, his strong paws rooted in the ground.

An arm wrapped around my waist and jerked me up, tugging me forward. "Stay with me, darling," Agent Smith urged softly, his tone weirdly relaxed despite the circumstances.

A chain-link fence stood tall in the distance. "It's a dead end!" I wailed.

"Not for all of us."

The moment we reached the fence, Agent Smith gave me a boost to the top. I barely managed to climb over, clumsily falling on my ass. Chop was already waiting for me on the other side. Clearly, he was way more athletic than I was.

"I'll hold them off," Agent Smith drew a handgun from the depths of his suit.

I glanced at the horde of angry, machete wielding thugs closing in on him. "Are you crazy? They're going to kill you—"

"Your concern is duly noted, Ms. DeSanta," he replied calmly. "Now go."

* * *

 **So I feel like quite a lot happened in this chapter! And fast! What do you think? Leave a review, let me know if you're enjoying the story so far! (Or not enjoying the story so far lol) Honest feedback is always welcomed.**

 **We're actually nearing the end of this fic, there's a few more chapters to go but I just wanted to thank everyone who's been supporting me during this really long journey. You know, I've spent a lot of sleepless nights writing this, and you guys who've been leaving reviews and sending messages to voice your support mean the world to me. I love you! It's mind blowing to me that there are people out there still reading my crap and putting up with my late ass updates lol.**

 **All in all, I love y'all. Thank you for reading! Stay on the lookout for the next update :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hey y'all! I'm back with an update ;)**

* * *

With no money to hail a cab, I hobbled through the city streets with Chop dragging his paws closely behind. The night sky was cloaked in clouds, wind lashed at my hair, the first drops of rain dotting the pavement. My body was still aching from the rough fall I suffered, but I kept pressing on, tuning out the busy streets and swarms of bodies brushing by me, my teary eyes glued to my feet.

My belly twisted in sour knots, the taste of vomit burned the back of my throat. This disaster of a night was all my fault. How could I leave Agent Smith behind? He was no older than I was, he had his whole life ahead of him, but instead, he sacrificed it all to protect me. But why? I wasn't worth it. I was a coward—a stupid, dumb coward that made terrible decisions and refused to listen to reason.

I should had stayed at the hotel. I should have never left…

If only I could turn back the clock, I'd do so many things different. But that was impossible. There was no way to make things right. I envied the brick buildings towering overhead, dull and lifeless, unable to suffer pain and heartache like I did.

It wasn't fair. My life was one big, giant mistake.

I don't know how long I wandered the streets before Chop and I stumbled across the hotel. The lobby had more officers and surveillance than the airport—the moment we stepped through the sliding doors, we were swarmed by both security guards and federal agents alike. After a thorough examination of my identification, and a few prying questions regarding our prior whereabouts, they allowed us into the elevator.

My fingers clutched anxiously at the sticky metal handrail as the elevator made its long, shuddering ascent to the third floor. My stomach lurched with every jerk and bump. The nausea was getting worse and worse. I had to get to the bathroom quick!

Once the elevator door opened, I sprang into the hall and scrambled toward my room. There were voices shouting furiously, growing louder with every step I took.

"Jesus Christ, Frank!" Dad's booming voice echoed through the hall. "You were supposed to be watching her, protecting her! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Man, chill out," Franklin blurted. "I saw an opportunity to get even, so I took it. You woulda done the same shit!"

My heart skipped at the sound of my boyfriend's voice. I swerved into our room and bumped right into Dad. He spun around, his face brightening at the sight of me. "Tracey! Baby! Holy shit, you're alive!" He embraced me. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Dad," I muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Franklin. He stared at me gravely, arms crossed over his chest, tension tightened the rugged features of his face. Chop darted into the room and scrambled under the bed, out of sight.

Dad pulled away, and inspected me closely, his eyes widening at the bloody scrapes across my legs. "Fuckin' A, you look like hell, Trace. Where have you been? What happened?"

A hot flush crept across my cheeks. "I-I um, I went to a club…"

"Did somebody hurt you?" Dad asked.

I fought the urge to squirm beneath Dad's probing gaze. "There were some bad guys chasing me and I fell—"

He scoffed and pulled away, a vein near his right eye bulged as his face grew red. "How could you be so stupid?" he snapped, pacing the room, his arms sweeping through the air dramatically as he spoke. "You could've been killed!"

I trembled, my stomach dropped to my toes. "Dad, I'm…I'm sorry," I choked out tearfully in my defense. "I just wanted to have some fun—"

"This isn't a game, Tracey!" He gripped my shoulders. "Don't you get it? We have money on our heads, every piece of shit criminal across the state wants us dead! If you keep doing stupid shit like this, you're going to get killed! _You're going to die!_ Do you understand me?" He shook me roughly. "No more pumpkin spice lattes, no more boyfriends, no _nothing_!"

"Dad, stop," I pleaded, my eyes watering. "You're so effing dramatic. I get it, okay? It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"You'll be six-feet under," Dad continued. "Dead and gone—"

"Ay, Mike," Franklin muttered. "Ease up, dog. She made a mistake, it happens—"

Dad whirled around and shot a glare at Franklin. "F, stop pretending like you give a shit about my daughter. This crap woulda never fucking happened if you didn't run out on her!"

Franklin rolled his eyes. "Man, you got some fuckin' nerve. I'm the one who's been watchin' after Tracey since this bullshit with Madrazo started. When them dudes broke into yo' house and tried to kidnap her—I was there. When them hillbillies tried to eat her—I was there. When them motherfuckin' bounty hunters tried to kill her—I was there. Where the fuck you been all this time, homie? If you cared 'bout your daughter so damn much, then why ain't you there when she needs you most?"

Dad's eyes narrowed, becoming dark slits of fury. Baring his teeth, he stepped up to Franklin fearlessly. They stared into each other's eyes with open animosity, fists clenched, the bitter tension filling the air caused me to stumble back for cover.

"I've been taking care of Tracey since the day she was born, you motherfucker," Dad spat. "I did everything I could to keep my family happy, safe and sheltered and fed. And whether you give a shit or not, Frank, I did everything I could for you too. I took you under my wing, I made you into the man you are today, and this is how you repay me—seducing my innocent baby girl and turning her against her own family?"

Franklin furrowed his brows. "The fuck you talkin' 'bout, Mike?"

Dad glanced at me. "Your mother and brother is worried sick about you, Trace. Ever since you got involved with Frank, you don't call, you don't text—did you completely forget about your family? You don't need us anymore now that you got Frank, huh?"

I frowned. "It's not like that, Dad. I totally woulda called, but I've been busy trying not to get killed by bad guys. You have no idea how crazy these past few days have been."

"Yeah, dog," Franklin added. "She's been goin' through some shit. Give her some slack, man. I get that you upset but—"

"No, you don't get it, kid," Dad said. "You couldn't possibly understand the shit I'm goin' through, 'cause you've never been a father. You don't understand the meaning of family like I do. You've never even had a real family—"

"Fuck you," Franklin glowered, his voice low but full of intensity. "I'm gettin' tired of you pressin' me all the motherfuckin' time. If you don't think I'm good enough for yo' daughter—cool, you entitled to yo' opinion, but I ain't goin' nowhere. She's _mine_ , she chose _me_ , so why don't you do us all a favor and get the fuck over it already?"

"You're pushing it, kid," Dad grumbled, his lips drawn back in an ugly snarl. "I'd choose my next words _very_ carefully if I were you, F."

"Why? The fuck you finna do?" Franklin scoffed. "You right, I ain't got a family, man, but shit, I rather be alone than live a fuckin' lie. Everybody thinks you hot shit, 'The great Michael Townley', director by day, bank robber by night, but the reality is—you ain't nothin' but a shady ass snitch who burned every motherfucker you ever known over a cheap prostitute."

" _Frank_ ," Dad said icily, his voice a cold warning. "Say another word, and so help me God, I'll shove my foot straight up your ass."

I grimaced with sour exasperation, the building tension in the air threatening to burst. I didn't want them to fight, not again. I glanced at Franklin, my eyes wet and imploring, silently urging him to take back his venomous words and defuse the situation.

But he wouldn't. Not this time.

My boyfriend's hard gaze shifted to me, his amber eyes darkening with terrifying defiance before returning to Dad. "Amanda was probably openin' her legs for every motherfucker across the Midwest," he snorted, quick and disgusted. "Bet you Trace and Jim ain't even yours."

I gasped, stunned and rendered speechless by Franklin's spiteful words. _Ouch._ How could he say something like that?

A deep growl resonated from the depths of Dad's throat. He drew back his fist and punched my boyfriend in the mouth. **_Whack!_** Franklin stumbled back with a tight groan, a thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his lips.

"Frank!" I swallowed an upsurge of sobs and dashed to my wounded boyfriend. "Are you okay?"

He spat out a glob of blood from between his teeth. My stomach lurched at the sight of crimson tarnishing the clean, hardwood floor. Nausea clawed my throat. I tried to swallow it down, but my stomach contracted violently, forcing out partially digested croissant chunks and alcohol from my choking mouth. Pained whimpers for help spilled from my lips as I spewed disgusting foamy bile all over boyfriend's designer shirt.

He froze, his lips curling with disgust.

"Jesus!" Dad cringed, skipping out of the way to avoid any flying vomit from tainting his tailored suit. The tension in the air quickly dispersed as uneasy concern darkened my father's weathered face.

Tapered fingers brushed my hair back, protecting my recently straightened strands from being sullied. "Ms. DeSanta," Agent Smith's robotically calm, sophisticated voice filled my ears. "I warned you about the tequila, didn't I? What a shame it would be to ruin your new hairdo so soon."

Once my stomach finally settled and I could think straight, I lifted my gaze to meet his, gaping at him for a full two seconds. My dazed brain struggled to comprehend how the heck he got here so soon—and how the heck he survived being cornered by a gang of machete-wielding thugs. Despite the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming me, I managed to crack a smile. He wasn't dead! It was a miracle!

I threw my arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight. "You're alive," I croaked, my voice sore and hoarse. "Sacrificing yourself, leaving me to live with the guilt—don't you ever do that again, you jerk!"

"It's part of the job," Agent Smith muttered, growing unnaturally still beneath my touch. "Furthermore, I had no intention of dying tonight, especially by the hands of inexperienced ruffians—"

Uncle T casually strode through the door. "Fancy, the FIB has British pricks workin' for 'em now. Jeez, it smells like vomit and a shitload of testosterone in here. What I miss?"

Franklin stripped off his puke-stained shirt and said, "Mike punched me in the face, then my girl threw up on me and started feelin' up some random dude." He glared daggers at Agent Smith. "Who the fuck are you?"

I cleared my throat and inched away from him. _Awkward_.

"He's Tracey's bodyguard," Dad said. "Handpicked by Davey, he's supposed to be the best the FIB has to offer."

"Really?" Uncle T walked up to Agent Smith, invading his personal space with a leer from head to toe, their faces so close I could of swore their noses brushed.

"A pleasure to meet you," Agent Smith murmured. Miraculously, he remained perfectly still as Uncle T stared him down, his clean-cut face heating in a blush.

"The pleasure is all mine," Uncle T said. "But I'm warning you, fucker, if something happens to Tracey, things ain't gonna be too pleasant between us anymore. I'll pluck your eyes out and grill 'em for dinner. Do we understand each other?"

Agent Smith nodded stiffly. "Crystal clear, sir."

"Give him some space, T," Dad said, clutching Uncle T's arm and pulling him back.

"Tracey don't need no motherfuckin' bodyguard," Franklin argued. "He's workin' for the feds, y'all know how shady them dudes are. Shit, most of them are probably on Madrazo's payroll."

"I'm doing the best I can here, alright?" Dad replied. "My daughter was almost killed tonight because of your bullshit, F."

"This shit ain't entirely on me," Franklin retorted. "I told her to stay here. She decided to run off to the club with Chop—"

Dad scoffed. "You shoulda been here to talk her out of it."

Uncle T shook his head. "Give the kid a break, Mikey. Tracey's _your_ daughter, isn't she? If you're so worried about her, why don't you watch after her your damn self?"

"I can't just sit around and watch after the kids all day," Dad retorted. "Somebody has to go after Madrazo or else this nightmare ain't never gonna end."

"Well, if you ask me," Uncle T said, "I think Frank has been doing a great job protecting our little angel. Sure, she stinks of vomit, and yeah, she looks just as severely malnourished as the poor little African infants in those shitty donation commercials—bless their starving hearts—but despite all of that, she's alive, right? Frankie must be doing something right."

Dad gave me a once-over. "You know, you do look like you've been losing a lot of weight. Has Frank been feeding you?"

"Dad…" I muttered, pressing a quaking hand to my throbbing forehead. I had a mother of a migraine, everything was happening so fast, all the drama and commotion was overwhelming. I _hated_ when they fought over me.

" _Yes_ ," Franklin answered for me. "Of course I been feedin' her—"

"Oh, fuck off," Dad snapped. "I wasn't talking to you."

"I don't give a fuck—"

" _Stop!_ " I screamed, tears bursting from my eyes, spilling down my face. My chin trembled like a baby, the walls that kept my emotions at bay completely collapsed. "I'm tired of you guys fighting over me! I'm not a friggin' child, I can take care of myself!" The world morphed into a blur as loud sobs wracked my chest. With all the strength I could muster, I pushed my stupid father out of the way and flung out into the hall.

"Tracey!" Dad called after me. "Come back here right now!"

"Screw you!" I shouted. "Leave me alone!"

I fled into the nearest stairwell, huge tears rolling down my cheeks, my sandals pattering down the concrete steps. I couldn't take it anymore, I had to get away from the insanity—or else I was going to go crazy!

I didn't get too far before a rough hand captured mine, stopping my advance. "Tracey," Franklin's resonant voice echoed through the narrow, deserted stairwell. "You can't leave, baby. It's too dangerous."

I swiveled quickly to face him. "I don't care. I'm sick of you and dad arguing over me, it's effing exhausting."

He stared down at me, his eyes direct and probing. "Why you leave?"

Confused, I gazed at him blankly. "What?"

"Why you went to a club?"

"It was Chop's idea."

"Bullshit." He sucked his teeth, the tight expression on his face shadowed with suspicion. "Girl, you know damn well how dangerous it is out there. You really expect me to believe Chop's dumb ass convinced you to go party at a nightclub? Even though you got a price on your head?"

"Yes, because it's the truth. And Chop isn't dumb—"

"Chop is a dog!" he snapped. "I love little homie, but he's got the brain of goddamn two-year-old, and I'm startin' to think you and him ain't so different. What you did was fuckin' stupid and you know it."

He shot me a fierce glare that dared me to argue. I took an uneven step back and stared at him, stupefied, my heart breaking from the sincerity of his words. I needed him to hold me, to kiss away my sorrow. Instead, he was throwing more salt into my open wounds, intensifying the stinging hurt and remorse gnawing at my insides.

"Look, I'm tryna keep you alive," he went on. "I'm doin' everythin' I can to protect you. Watchin' after yo' impulsive ass ain't easy, and you make shit even more complicated when you don't listen. You promised me you wouldn't do anythin' stupid, Trace. You can't keep slippin' up like this, girl."

I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. To him, I was nothing more than an unwanted, unasked for responsibility. I was a burden to him—to everyone. But not anymore. I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves, wiped my own tears, angled my chin up and stared straight into his eyes.

"You're right," I said, my tone curt and coolly distant. "I'm impulsive, and I make dumb decisions, but at least I'm not a mean, miserable asshole like you."

He grimaced, his eyes softening. "Baby, you don't mean that."

"I mean it," I sneered, my body thrummed with a fury that left me trembling. "The way you talked to my dad, the things you said about me, Jimmy and Mom—you crossed the fucking line. You can be so cruel and sadistic, sometimes I wonder if you even have a conscience." I drilled my index finger into his bare chest. "You're rotten at the core, Frank. You're a sick, demented murderer and you need help."

A thick silence descended over us. With a slow, deliberate head shake, he gravitated close, cupping my cheek, his warm breath on my lips. "You right, I am fucked up," he spoke in a deep, agonized whisper that tore at my heart. "I've done some real bad shit in the past. It eats at me, baby, I swear it does. I'm not some heartless fuckin' monster, a'ight? I love you, doesn't that count for anythin'?"

His muscles trembled, his heart pounded so hard beneath my fingertips, I thought it would burst. He was hurt and impassioned, deeply unnerved by my harsh words. It would have been so easy to fall back into his arms. He was beautiful, his brown skin flushed deep with emotion, and glossy amber eyes shimmering like gold.

But I stuck to my guns. I rather be a bum on the street, dumpster diving for a living than be his pathetic burden any longer. "I'm leaving," I uttered, pulling away from him.

"Tracey," Franklin pleaded desperately. "Talk to me, baby. Please, let's work this shit out—"

"I-I can't do this anymore." I turned for the steps and resumed my dragging, heavy-footed descent.

He barreled after me, "Wait! Where you goin'?"

"Anywhere but here."

He gripped my wrist with surprising force, wrenching me around to face him. "It ain't safe out there, babe—"

My hand cracked across his face before I could stop myself. **_Pow!_** He winced, releasing my arm, a tight growling sound emerged from the depths of his throat. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, taking one last glimpse at my crazy, hot-headed ex-boyfriend before storming away.

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 **So this chapter is rather short and more bitter than sweet but I hope you enjoyed it. Leave a review, let me know what you think! As always, I appreciate honest feedback :D Thank you so much for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey y'all, I'm back with an update for the twentieth time lol. This chapter is in Frank's pov, enjoy :D**

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 **Franklin**

For the first week without her, I moped. The second I stayed in bed smoking blunts. By week three, I was back on the streets with a gun on my hip and a list of targets to kill. Ten names, and after a few days' work with Lester's help, only one remained.

Escobar Guzmán.

I set up my perch high above the teeming city streets, loaded up my sniper and studied the world beyond. In the dead of night, the skyline was a hazy show of glittering lights and smog-cloaked buildings. Below, the road was a frozen river of endless cars. From so high up, where skyscrapers touched the clouds and planes grazed the stars, the brutal, crime-ridden city of Los Santos almost seemed…peaceful.

It would had been great to sit back and enjoy the view for a while. But I had a job to do, and it was humid as hell out here—great beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. I wiped it away, repositioned the flat brim of my hat backwards, and gazed into my red dot scope.

Half a mile away, through the shadowy cracks and crevices of graffiti-riddled alleyways, stood the Los Santos harbor. And beyond that was the ocean, black and still like a great tub of ink beneath the pale moon. Ferries, tugboats, and yachts dotted the motionless sea, all pearly white and pristine, most of them hosting crowded parties while a select few lugged around little more than cargo.

"You're looking for a speedboat," Lester's nasally voice blurted through my earpiece. "It's an antique—fiberglass with a finished wood deck, sticks out like a sore thumb. Can't miss it."

I panned the large expanse of water. To the far left, past the extravagant yachts and ferries, was a motorboat matching Lester's description. There was a shirtless dude at the wheel carving a speedy path through the water, his shoulder length hair whipping wildly in the wind. He drove in swift, precise circles with a cheeky smile plastered on his face, the powerful motor spraying great white trails in its wake.

"A'ight, I see the boat," I said. "There's a dude drivin' it, and he ain't too bad at it either."

"Unsurprising," Lester said. "Guzmán dabbles in offshore speedboat racing from time to time, and rarely ever loses. Is he alone?"

"Yeah."

"Good. He usually takes his daughter out for rides by the docks, but luckily for us, she stays with her mother on weekends—"

"What?" I winced, withdrawing from the scope. "He got a daughter, man?"

" _Don't_ get soft on me now, Frank," Lester snapped. "Not only is this human shit-stain a notorious human trafficker, but he also happens to be one of Madrazo's trusted gunrunners and drug smugglers. He moves tons of hot product from overseas into the states. And before that, he was an enforcer for the cartel."

"Damn," I sighed. "This motherfucker must be bad to the bone with a rap sheet like that."

"Heh, no kidding. To sum it up, he has more blood on his hands than you and Michael combined."

"And Trevor?"

"Hard to say. We'd have to take into account all the hitchhikers that have gone missing over the years throughout Blaine County. Knowing Trevor, there could be hundreds annually. Anyway, if you take out Guzmán, the heartless tyrant Madrazo will take a big hit financially. With the cartel's most efficient smuggler out of the way, they'll have less resources to use against you. Might just tip the odds in your favor."

"And if I don't?" I asked.

"Let the bastard live and, well, your predicament remains the same— _fucked_. These scumbags don't play nice, Franklin. It's only a matter of time before Guzmán gets the order to come after you, your friends and the tiny bit of family you have left. Everything and everyone you care about is a target…"

Thoughts of Tracey flooded my mind, her face as clear as a picture. My gut kicked as my body reacted to vivid memories of her. I promised I would keep her safe, and I intended to see it through no matter what it took. I gritted my teeth together tightly, clamping my emotions down. If anything, I could triumphantly drink myself to sleep tonight with a promise well-kept and a sense of pride—that I did this for her, that I was one step closer to righting my wrongs.

I took aim at Guzmán and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced his neck, ripping flesh, tearing muscle. His boat came to a sudden halt. The sound of the shot muffled by both the suppressor and hectic noise of the city—no one noticed a thing. I watched the blood spray from the gaping hole in his throat until he stopped moving.

Another sleazy motherfucker down and I didn't even feel bad about it. He shoulda been a better man for his daughter. You get what you give.

"It's done," I muttered, dissembling my sniper.

"Nice work," Lester said. "I'm impressed. Now get out of there and lay low, eliminating ten high-profile targets in the matter of days is bound to draw unwanted attention."

"Good. I want Madrazo to know I'm comin' for his ass."

"Granted, the world would be a better place with one less deranged drug kingpin terrorizing everyone. But if you're on the warpath, best be smart about it. Making another move against him so soon would be too risky without proper preparation. Give me some time to scope out another opportunity to strike."

I sighed. "Fine. Hit me with somethin' soon, a'ight?"

"I'll keep in touch. Oh, and be careful, Franklin. I wouldn't cope well with you dying. For a hired thug, you actually make a pretty good friend."

* * *

I made a stop at Vanilla Unicorn for a drink and a word of advice from the only friend I had available. Lamar wasn't returning my calls, probably still tripping over Denise, and Michael was… _Michael_.

The music was blasting, and all the horny patrons were crowded around the stage, gaping at the loose-limbed and graceful strippers riding the poles. Trevor was cooped up in his private office 'handling important business' he claimed. So I waited for him, hunched over at the center of bar all by myself, my head hung heavy with thoughts of Tracey.

The heartbreak felt cold, like there was a gaping hole in my chest. How could she just walk away? Like all the shit we went through meant nothing at all? I couldn't get her face out of my head, and all the arguments we had, all the times I made her cry. Damn, I shoulda been a better man for her. I was a fuckin' idiot.

She was good to me. She deserved better.

Missing her usually came in long, excruciating waves—but tonight, I was drowning—suffocating in a sea filled of berating my own mistakes. Not even vodka could numb the pain. The heartbreak was killing me slowly and keeping me alive to feel it all.

Why did it hurt so bad? I was used to being abandoned. I've been alone all my life, long before she left me. I learned young not to get too attached to anyone or anything. Somewhere along the line, I fucked up. I fell too deep for a girl, and now I was paying the price for it.

I sighed deeply. The loneliness cut deep tonight, leaving a bitter tang in my mouth. How did my life end up this way? I mulled over the destruction, loss and agony I caused to myself and others over the years. No wonder everyone hated me. Shit, I hated myself too.

I muttered to the bartender for a refill of vodka. She obliged, her earthy brown eyes studying me like a puzzle she couldn't solve. She tried to pull me into conversation more than once, absently twiddling her flowy black hair between her fingers and occasionally leaning her curvy figure over the bar.

I've never seen her before, she must be new here. Older than the last bartender, her roots frosted with age, but she was more attractive still—her brown skin perfectly smooth and dainty round face splashed with pretty moles.

Although her attempts to chat with me was met with silence each time, my eyes would often drift to her breasts, outlined beneath her low-cut blouse and practically on the verge of popping out. The nice view was enough to distract me from the loneliness, at least for now.

A man stumbled drunkenly to the bar, short and scraggy with a snake-like chin so long it covered most of his neck. There was a purple bandana tied around his wide forehead—telltale sign of a bitch ass Balla. "Hey baby!" he slurred, sliding into the seat next to me. "Hurry the fuck up and serve me up another beer, sexy."

"I think you've had enough," the bartender retorted.

"Bitch please, ain't the customer always right? I'm just getting started, boo."

"Nuh-uh, yo' drunk ass ain't getting another sip—"

In a sudden fit of rage, he slammed his fists against the counter. **_Bang!_** She shuddered, stumbling a step back. "Bitch, stop playing!" he barked, pointing a meaty finger at her. "Give me my motherfucking drink or else I'ma come over there and slap that cheap ass lace front off the side of yo' head—"

I rolled my eyes. "Nigga, what you need to do is take yo' no-neck, Jiminy Cricket lookin' ass home. Out here bullyin' a female—you an embarrassment, dog."

"What, nigga?" He sprang up and swatted my vodka out of my hand. The glass hit the wall and shattered to pieces. "You talking to a Balla OG," he paused, burping in my face.

I launched to my feet, staring him dead in the eyes, my blood boiled, and muscles vibrated. _This fool was gon' pay for that shit_.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a dude creeping up on me from behind. "Yo, what set you from, man?" he probed. "You Gang Green, ain't you? I know a CGF fuckboy when I see one."

"Man, fuck you Balla bitches," I spat fearlessly. "Both of y'all pussy."

The drunk Balla shoved a hand into his pants and yanked out an Uzi. "Who you callin' a pussy, you…punk ass negro nigga?" He held the gun cocked to the side with quivering fingers, the barrel pressed against my chest.

He thought whipping out a strap would faze me. _Wrong_. I glared at him, jaw clenched and unflinching. He wasn't gonna pull the trigger. Beneath all the macho bullshit and gang sign slinging was wide, panicking eyes, trembling limbs and a gaunt face drenched with cold sweat. I've been around killers and psychotic ass fools with nothing to live for my whole life, and they all shared one thing in common—the coldness in their eyes. This dude didn't have the look. Motherfucker was putting on a front.

"You kno-know what?" he stammered, lowering the gun. "I-I ain't got time to be fucking...'round with chu. I'm on parole and shit. You ain't even worth it, mark mother…fucker." He turned and wobbled away, beckoning his friend with a clumsy wave of his hand. "Yo! We out, playa."

"Word, fuck this joint," his friend brushed past me roughly. "See you around the block, _family boy_."

"Peace, _Ball-less bitch_ ," I replied, reclaiming my seat.

Once the Ballas departed, the bartender exhaled loudly and beamed warmly at me. Her bright smile changed her face, softened it, added a touch of delicate vulnerability.

"Thanks for having my back, sweetie," she said, grabbing a clean glass from behind the counter and filling it to the brim with Hennessy. "Take this, it's on the house." She passed me the drink.

"Thanks," I muttered, avoiding her gaze. My head throbbed with tension, like an annoying tooth ache in the brain. I rubbed my brow in firm circles, hoping to ward off the headache. Fuck, I shoulda just went home. I had enough problems already, adding Balla beef to the mix was only gonna make shit worse.

She fluttered her thick lashes and gravitated close, her manicured fingers tipped up my chin in a bold attempt to seize my attention. Our eyes met, her wise, smoky gaze burned through me, probing my very soul. Unnerved by the scrutinizing intimacy, my heart skipped and then began to race. "I know that look," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper. "Who broke your heart, baby? Your girlfriend? Wife?"

My face burned, a hot wave of shame washed over me. How the hell did this lady read me so easily? Slowly, I sipped my drink with a grimace, and gave her a clean answer. "My girl. She left me."

"That's her loss. She oughta be a fool to leave a man like you behind."

I snorted a tight, deprecating laugh. "Can't blame her, I woulda left my ass too. I ain't a good guy."

"No, you're a bad boy. And from what I can tell, you're bad with a good heart that's hurting more than it damn well should." She leaned closer, her pouty red lips hovered over mine. "And if there's anything I learned over the years, it's this—bad boys ain't no damn good, but good boys ain't no fun."

I snickered, tossing down the rest of my drink. My head hummed from the strong, bitter tang. "Shit, guess I got some redeeming qualities after all."

Gently, tentatively she pinched my cheek. "Sweetie, you have a great smile. You should show it more."

I tensed as her gaze drifted over me, heat coiling low within the depths of my stomach with every lingering visual caress. She caressed my cheek and I didn't shy away from the affection. In fact, I welcomed it, yearned for it—her touch was light and feather-soft, just like Tracey's. Time came to a slow as I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. I could imagine my baby so clearly, the way her angelic face would shine so bright when she was happy and tighten into a pout whenever she was sad, and how her blue eyes sparkled like stars whenever she looked at me…

For a moment, she was right here with me. Like she never left. Her fingertips toyed with my beard playfully, her body clinging to mine as always—she hated when I pulled away, both physically and emotionally. So I gravitated closer, chest to chest, hugging her tighter than I ever did before.

The most foul, nauseating stench hit my nostrils. My eyes shot open, the disgusting scent yanked me back to reality.

"Everything will be okay, kid," Trevor murmured softly, leaning against the bar and cradling me in his embrace, stroking my head. "Uncle T is gonna take good care of you—"

I jerked from his grasp, my skin crawled. "T! What the fuck, man?"

"What?" he blinked, confused. "I was comforting you. You don't have to be such a dick about it."

Dazed and woozy, I shuffled about in a drunken haze until I found my seat. Damn, I needed to sober up fast. Being shitfaced with a predator like Trevor lurking around was a recipe for disaster. I glanced at him and muttered, "Ay, no more of that freaky shit, a'ight? Just 'cause I'm vulnerable, depressed, and a lil' tipsy don't mean you can molest my ass, man."

"You're the one who hugged me first, asshole," he snapped. "Naturally, I reciprocated the affection like any great friend such as myself would. You're fucking welcome, you sad cunt."

"Fuck you," I grumbled, glancing behind the bar. Strangely enough, there was no one there. "Ay, where that lady go? The bartender?"

"She's on a smoke break. Why? Need a drink?"

"Nah, I'm straight, dog. Ay, what took you so fuckin' long to bring yo' ass out that goddamn office?"

"I'm running a business here, kid. I can't babysit you twenty-four seven—"

A reedy stripper with a wild mane of curly black hair strutted over to Trevor and whispered something in his ear. He gritted his teeth and swept up a remote control behind the counter. Then, he powered on a boxy television set bulging from the wall adjacent to us and flipped through the channels with fierce urgency.

The frenzied channel surfing came to halt at a late-night talk show. Late-night talk shows weren't really my thing, I couldn't put a name on the bright-eyed host behind the desk with the overly expensive black tuxedo and bow-tie. But the white dude looked familiar, I coulda swore I saw his clean-cut face and trademark salt 'n' pepper hair plastered to the side of a bus somewhere.

Sitting on the leather single sofa chair beside him was… _Tracey._ My mind went blank, a rush of adrenaline zipped through my body. I flung from my seat and stared wide-eyed at the screen. What the fuck was she doing?

"I'm not supposed to be on TV right now," Tracey said, hiding her face behind a huge pair of black sunglasses. She stood for a moment to pose for the camera, showing off her pink flowery sundress. "I'm here because there's people trying to kill me and I want everyone to know that if something happens to me, Madrazo is responsible. And if I die from the hands of his ghoulish fiends, the world will lose an amazing dancer and global icon!"

Clapping erupted from the crowd. The camera shifted to a stern-faced man standing off in the corner. "That's my bodyguard everyone," Tracey said. "His name is Agent Smith, and he has a really awesome British accent. Oh, and he's looking for that special someone! He likes to bake cakes on his free time and plays golf Thursday afternoons at the Los Santos golf club. In case any of you single ladies wanna snatch him up, he's like, totally available." He straightened his red-striped tie and waved at the camera, his face blushing as red as a tomato.

Tracey cleared her throat. "Anyway, that's enough about him." She beamed as the camera shifted back to her. "As I was saying, I have a price on my head and its super high, like billions of dollars I bet. And I totally get it, because I'm a really important person, y'know? But the price isn't nearly as high as my love for my fans. So my fans should return the love I give them by protecting me with their lives—"

"Right," the host said, interrupting her. "So uh, you're an amazing dancer, your Fame-or-Shame performances are still making waves online. Tell us, do you have any future projects in the making?"

"Of course I do! If Madrazo doesn't kill me before then, I'm looking forward to continuing my career as an entertainer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Nope!" Her smiling expression abruptly hardened into a scowl. She glared into the camera lens, her eyes so hard and piercing, it was as if she was talking directly to me. "I'm super single and ready to mingle. My last relationship ended horribly. Seriously, he treated me so bad. Like, sometimes he'd kick me around worse than you do a dead cat—"

The crowd gasped. "He was physically abusive?" the host asked.

"No, he was _not_ physically abusive. Let me be clear—he would kick me around like a dead cat with like, his words. He was a cruel, grouchy, douchenozzle-fucknut. I hate him!"

Trevor nudged me and blurted out a laugh. "Hey, douchenozzle-fucknut, I think she's talking about you—"

I scoffed. "Fuck off, man. That shit ain't funny."

"What kind of men are you into?" the host asked.

"I had this phase when I was into black thugs," Tracey said, "but now I'm looking for a good guy. Someone who doesn't have mood swings or pushes me away all the time or calls my mother a whore or my father a snitch or anything like that. I don't want him to be soft either though, I need someone who can protect me from Madrazo. You know what? I can show you a picture of what Madrazo looks like."

"You have a picture of him?"

"Sure, he has plenty of pictures posted to Lifeinvader." She slowly pulled up her dress, revealing a pink lacy thong. The crowd gasped and whistled approvingly as she gradually slipped her cell phone from the strap of her panties. "Sorry, I don't have pockets," she murmured, licking her plump red lips seductively. "Sometimes a girl's gotta improvise."

"Jesus," Trevor shook his head. "Michael is gonna shit a fuckin' brick when he sees this. Bet you twenty bucks Sugartits is already on his way there."

"Bet," I muttered dejectedly, trying to ignore the stinging pang in my chest.

Tracey took her sweet time lowering her dress, the cheering growing louder and louder. A burning sensation stabbed at my insides. _What the fuck was she doing?_ Damn, it was hard to watch. She was _my_ girl. _Mine._ She didn't have to degrade herself for attention, she was more than just an object for desperate dudes in their basement to get off to.

"So, about your future projects," the host continued. "Can you give us any spoilers of what we can expect in the future from you—"

"Look at this man," Tracey held her phone out toward the camera. There was a picture of Madrazo lying in a hospital bed, wrapped from head to toe in bloody bandages. "This is Madrazo! If you see this man, call the cops immediately!"

The host furrowed his brows. "Not to point out the obvious or anything, but that man is lying in a hospital bed, an inch away from death. Are you sure he's as dangerous as you claim?"

"This picture was posted like a week ago after my dad and uncle threw him off a cliff, it's a long story. The point is, he's healthy now and he's trying to effing kill me, got it?" She stood up, and the camera zoomed in, centering on her face. "This is a message to all my loyal fans. If you see a short, Mexican man wrapped in a bunch of bandages, it's Madrazo! He's a psycho maniac and he's trying to kill me! I need help—"

"Tracey!" a voice shouted from the television, seemingly from afar. The camera snapped to the crowd. Michael appeared, barreling at full speed through the seated masses toward the stage.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Tracey wailed, hopping behind the couch for cover.

Two hulking security guards emerged from nowhere, tackling Michael to the ground before he reached the stage. **_Bang!_** Shots rang out, one of the security guards grew stiff.

"He has a gun!" a voice blurted from the crowd. Hysterical screaming filled the air. People scrambled from their seats and bolted toward the exit in a wild stampede.

"Cut the camera!" the host yelped frantically as he hid behind his desk. "Cut the camera! Cut it! Cut it—"

The screen plunged into distorted static. Trevor smirked. "I had a feeling that was that was gonna happen. You owe me twenty bucks, kid."

I winced. What a fucking mess.

"I'm back," the bartender reclaimed her rightful spot behind the counter, the scent of smoke rising from her skin. "What I miss?"

Trevor snorted. "A whole lot of bullshit we rather not talk about _ever_."

"Agreed," I sighed heavily.

She gazed at me, her eyes softening. "Hey, my shift is over in an hour, sweetie. You wanna come home with me? I know more than a few ways to cheer a man up."

I glanced at her. She was beautiful, her body curved in all the right places. The offer was tempting, but I couldn't do it. _I wouldn't._ I wasn't ready. "Nah, I'll take a rain check, baby. Peace, T. I'm takin' my ass home." I rose, turning on my heel and wobbling away. My vision was too blurred to drive, hopefully I could hail a cab—

"Wait!" Trevor grabbed my shoulder. "You wanna get your woman back? I know exactly how to do it."

I spun around to face him. "Stop playin', man—"

"I'm serious!" He gave me a stern shake. "I've been stealing hearts and breaking them all my life—literally and figuratively—long before you were even born. I'm an expert at this shit. You listen to me and you'll have the woman of your dreams back in no time."

"I dunno, homie," I frowned. "Shit is already fucked up bad between us. I ain't tryna make it worse."

"Think about it, kid. If the plan fails and you get rejected, you'll be back at square one again. You have everything to gain and nothing to fucking lose." He threw an arm around my shoulder. "So whaddya say, huh? You gonna be a miserable, loveless loser all your life? Or are ya gonna let Uncle T make all your dreams come true?"

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review, let me know if you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it lol. Honest feedback is always welcome. Love you guys, thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hey, y'all! I'm back with an update! I know it's been a while, but I had a bad case of writers block. Finally was able to pump this chapter out, hope y'all enjoy it :D**

* * *

 **Tracey**

A horde of police officers surrounded Dad, and restrained him with brute force, dragging him out of the auditorium. He struggled to free himself, kicking, pulling, and yelling, but there were far too many of them. Although his shouting was mostly vicious threats and deranged laughter, agonized grunts and tight whimpers crept through his lips as well—the army of rough hands yanking him through the halls were relentless.

"You're hurting him!" I barked, barreling after them. "Stop it! Please! Leave him alone!"

My pleading fell on deaf ears. They wouldn't let him go. It seemed hopeless, but I kept shouting at them anyway. I was hot on their trail, my insides quivered, and mouth dry from repeatedly screaming in passionate protest. The moment I stepped through the double doors into the outside world, a sea of bodies surrounded me, pushing and shoving, calling out my name excitedly, desperate for my attention. Flashes of light, followed by the harsh click of cameras blinded me, rooting me in place.

For a moment, my mind went blank from the overwhelming brightness. Various microphones and digital recorders were shoved in my face by attractive reporters and stern-faced journalists.

"Tracey, is it true there's a Mexican drug cartel trying to kill you?"

"How much is the bounty on your head exactly?"

"Many believe your appearance tonight was nothing more than a publicity stunt—what do you have to say to the skeptics?"

"Tracey, look at me!"

"Strike a pose!"

I stood like a log before the paparazzi and anchors, tongue-tied and stiff. There was so much noise—voices squealed, sirens blared—so loud my skull began to throb with a wrath so furious, I thought my head would split. A helpless prisoner to the migraine, my vision blurred and grew speckled with black dots.

As I was trapped and powerless in a stupor of flashing light, Dad was thrown into the back of a police cruiser and whisked away. My heart lurched, tears stained my cheeks. _No!_

From the corner of my dazed eye, I caught sight of _more_ movement. A herd of angry dudes stormed down the street, heading my way, wielding baseball bats, hammers and other various makeshift weapons. They were armed to the teeth for war. My breath hitched. _What the effing hell!_ They didn't look like Madrazo's men, no gang tattoos, machetes or guns. Who the heck were they?

The intimidating group was being led by a familiar face, his narrow nose crooked and bruised, and blonde curls dangled around his swollen cheeks. His elbow was bandaged and propped up by a splint. I sighed. It was _him_ —the obsessed asshole who harassed me at the club a couple of weeks ago!

"Tracey!" The blonde boy and his armed posse wormed their way through the paparazzi. "Hi! We're here to protect you from the Mexicans!"

My heart hammered against my chest, adrenaline pumped through my veins. "Stay back!" I wailed, backpedaling away from him. Knees weak and wobbly, I stumbled over my black stiletto heels, losing my balance. **_Bump!_** A hard chest broke my fall. I gazed up at Agent Smith, his face twisted into a scowl as he glared at the intrusive masses violating my personal space.

He locked an arm around my waist and led me through the tight-knit crowd. I wobbled along, barely able to keep myself afloat due to the excruciating pain exploding in my skull. "Get back, you savages!" he barked, shoving the reporters aside. He escorted me safely to our SUV, opening the door for me.

"Look!" a guy from the blonde boy's posse pointed at a random passerby crossing the street. "It's Madrazo!"

Everyone turned their head to gawk at the accused passerby. He froze, staring awkwardly at massive crowd ogling at him. "Ay, what's everybody looking at?" he asked, clueless, his voice carried a quirky Boston accent. "Who's Madrazzi?"

"Get him!" The blonde boy and his armed posse charged at the defenseless passerby. With a panicked yelp, the passerby turned on a heel and sped off for dear life.

"That's not Madrazo, you turds!" I cried at the top of my lungs. Although my voice echoed through the packed streets, no one cared to listen. After chasing the random passerby for half a block, they finally captured the guy, trampling him like roadkill. It was nice to know I had loyal fans willing to fight for me, but unfortunately, they were all friggin' idiots. I rolled my eyes and climbed into the backseat of the car.

Agent Smith closed the door tight behind me, and circled to the front of the SUV, slipping inside and taking the wheel. He started up the ignition and hastily pulled off. Sagging against the leather seat, my body relaxed. There was nothing more satisfying than watching the rowdy crowd and prying cameras fade in the distance.

"Goodness," Agent Smith removed his shades and scrubbed a hand over his face. "That went just as bloody awful as I thought it would."

"What are we going to do about my dad?" I asked. "The police have him, we can't let him go to prison!"

"Agent Norton will handle it," he grumbled through clenched teeth. "In the meantime, you and I have more pressing matters to discuss." His toneless glare chilled me to the bone. "Why must you lie to me?"

His abrupt, challenging accusation made my pulse quicken. "What?"

"You told me it was only going to be a fifteen-minute interview to 'earn a quick buck', to 'promote your career as an entertainer' and _nothing more_. Instead, you called out Madrazo and his entire criminal organization—you compromised yourself, you compromised _me_ ," he scolded. "That embarrassing debacle of an interview has put us all in jeopardy! I must warn you, if you continue to parade about like mindless buffoon, there will be little anyone can do to protect you—"

I shivered beneath his harsh tone. "Fine, it was a crappy plan," I sniffed. "But at least everyone knows about Madrazo now, right? There's no way he can hurt us and get away with it. The entire world is watching. If he kills us, he's totally screwed."

"No, he won't be screwed because he'll still be alive, lavishly wealthy, with a massive criminal enterprise at his beck and call—and we'll be dead!"

"I'm sorry!" I blurted, sobs wracked my throat. "I'm tired of hiding from him…no-nothing ever changes. I-I had to do something! I want my old life back, damn it!" In a tearful tantrum, I kicked the seat in front of me. "I hate this!"

My body trembled as I wept like a child, my gaze fixed to the window as if the blackness of night comforted me. My migraine refused to falter, a terrible repercussion of the constant anxiety and stress I dealt with on the daily. Madrazo was ruining my life and I _hated_ him for it.

Conscious of Agent Smith's steely eyes boring into me from the rearview window, I cringed. "Shouldn't you be focusing on the road?"

"And completely ignore the stricken woman bawling her heart out in the backseat of my car? That would not be very gentlemanly of me, now would it?" He rose a hand off the wheel to pass me a neatly folded handkerchief. "My fine motor skills should be the least of your worries. I am competent. I can multitask."

"That's great," I muttered, absently fumbling with the soft cloth. "But I rather you drive us off the road into a lake, so we can get this over with already. Madrazo is just going to kill us anyway."

Agent Smith made a sharp turn into a Burger Shot parking lot and stopped the car. He shifted toward me, offering me his undivided attention. "That was rather…dark, don't you think?"

I responded with a loose shrug.

"If suicide was an option, what was the point of fighting this long to survive?" he asked. "Suffering is part of the human experience, they say."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," I frowned. "My father is in jail because of me."

"Not indefinitely." He slumped into his seat, dark smudges of exhaustion lay under his eyes. The usual robotic, authoritative clarity in his voice grew soft, vulnerable. "Forgive me for lashing out at you, that was out of line, love," he said. "But there are consequences for your actions. Doesn't mean it's the end of the world. The sun will come up tomorrow, and the day after that, I assure you. And one of those days, there'll be nothing to fear, no one conspiring against you. You'll have the happiness you so very much deserve."

He ran a hand through his sandy hair, disheveling the neatly gelled strands. Rendered speechless by his kind words and weirdly relaxed demeanor, I stared blankly at my feet.

My phone vibrated from my thong strap. I pulled up my dress, catching a glimpse of Franklin's name brightening screen. My heart ached fiercely at the sight. _I miss him so much_. I was tempted to answer, maybe he missed me too, maybe he was sorry—

"I'm feeling a tad peckish," Agent Smith said. "How about you?"

I powered off my phone, ignoring the call, and the aching pang in my chest. "I wanna go home."

"Are you absolutely sure? There's a bakery nearby."

"No way it's open this late."

He took a glance at his silver-plated smartwatch. "I suppose you're right." After a moment or two of silence, he muttered, "Do you like tiramisu cake?"

I bit down a smile at the thought of the savory, multi-layered dessert. "Who doesn't?"

"Ah, just what I wanted to hear. Let's go home and bake one."

* * *

Miraculously, Agent Smith knew how to bake cake from scratch. Amazed, I watched him glide about the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie swinging loosely in his own wind as he mixed and measured various ingredients. Even while baking, an activity that was fun and carefree, he was silent and incredibly focused on the task, his movement precise and calculated. Once the cake batter was baked to a golden brown and the cream cheese frosting was well blended and chilled—did he finally crack a smile.

"I have a good feeling about this one," he said, carefully setting the cake aside on the counter. "Now for the coffee syrup—there's a bottle of rum in the fridge, yes? I was thinking one tablespoon of that added into the mixture will really give the cake a punch of flavor that'll blend quite nicely with the coffee and cream cheese. Unless you despise rum? It's an acquired taste, really."

I grabbed the half-filled bottle of my father's dark rum and handed it to him. "Rum is fine, as long as it's not overwhelming."

"Of course. Half a tablespoon it is—"

"Tracey!" Uncle T strode into the kitchen and pulled me into a hug. "How ya doin'? Where's your brother and your mother?"

I did my best to ignore the rancid stench rising from his skin. "Still at the safehouse in Paleto," I feigned a smile.

"And _you_ ," he glanced at Agent Smith. "What's going on? Why wasn't I invited for dessert?"

"You're more than welcome to stay for a bite," Agent Smith replied.

Uncle T glanced at the cake. "Nice sponge you got there. Looks like something my mother used to make…" Like a flick of a switch, his eyes darkened with emotion, a sour grimace spread across his face. "She'd bake those shitty pre-mixed cakes on those very rare occasions she wasn't neglecting me, or chastising me—she called me a sack of shit every day!" He gazed at Agent Smith, his eyes bloodshot and deeply impassioned. "Do you know what that does to a boy? Huh? Have you ever been called a sack of shit by your own mother?"

"I-I…" Agent Smith fumbled, an eerie stillness split the air. "I can't say I have."

"It feels like a knife through the heart," Uncle T winced, clutching his chest. "I can still feel it after all these years. It hurts so bad…she was always high on painkillers—those goddamn opioids…" As if his legs were about to give out from grief, he leaned on the kitchen counter and wept quietly to himself.

Agent Smith and I exchanged wary glances at one another. If Smith didn't realize Trevor was completely deranged from their first encounter at the hotel, he certainly knew it now. However, that didn't stop him from trying to offer my uncle comfort.

"There, there," Agent Smith rubbed Uncle T's shoulder soothingly. "Join us for dinner, will you? We'll have more than enough cake to go around. Sweet treats and people to lean on is the cure for all ills."

Uncle T choked down a sob and swung on a heel, his body inching weirdly close to my bodyguard. "I like you so much, I could kill you," he growled. "But I won't, not yet anyhow—now's a bad time. I gotta take a dump." He turned away sharply, hurrying out of the kitchen.

I let out a heavy sigh. _That could've gone worse…_

Agent Smith cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now where was I—oh! The coffee syrup." He scrambled through the cabinets in search for the ingredients.

"My uncle just threatened to kill you," I said. "And all you care about is that dumb cake."

"Pardon?" he smirked. "There's nothing 'dumb' about traditional Italian dessert. When adequately layered, and lightly textured, with the right consistency of flavors, Tiramisu is an absolute delicacy."

"Really? I'm starting to believe your making that cake more so for yourself than me."

"That's quite observative of you." He poured sugar, coffee and rum into a bowl and began to mix it with a big wooden spoon. Next, he assembled the cake, drizzling each layer with syrup and evenly spreading creamy frosting around it with a knife. "Oh dear, I hope the layers hold their definition. I'm a bit rusty at this."

I licked my lips, "I can't wait to taste it."

"Luckily for you, it's almost done. You should check on your uncle in the meantime, he's far too quiet for comfort."

"Good idea." I set off after Uncle T, ascending the stairs. My stride faltered at the sound of footsteps coming from _my_ room. I tiptoed to the door, opened it to a crack, and peeked through. Inside was dark and silent, with only the tick of my wall clock breaking the quiet. Someone lurked in the shadows, back turned and gloved hands sifting through my drawers. I gasped, my heart skipped a beat.

After a moment of mental preparation, I gathered the strength to confront the snooping stranger. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

The stranger flinched, whirling around to face me. "Tracey?" Uncle T's voice emerged from the shadows. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm searching for drugs."

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved it was Uncle T snooping through my stuff instead of a stranger, or even more worried. I narrowed my eyes. "You're looking for drugs? Really?"

"Yeah—nose candy, reefer, dust, crack—primarily the kind of shit that'll fuck you up and land you in prison. There's a FIB agent downstairs, and there's bound to be more on the way. You're being watched, kid."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? I don't have any drugs."

He gravitated uncomfortably close, his glassy eyes scrutinized me shrewdly. "You better not be lying to me, you little twerp. You don't wanna end up in the can, do ya?"

"I'm not lying. Now can you please get out of my room?"

"My pleasure." He brushed past me and stormed down the steps. "I always hated this fuckin' house anyway. It was built on lies, betrayal, and the blood of true friendship! That traitorous fuck—he's lucky I don't get a bulldozer and pulverize this place to dust with him, and his troll of a wife still in it!"

"Trevor?" Agent Smith called out as Uncle T strode past the kitchen. "Leaving so soon? What about the cake? Would you fancy a slice to go?"

"Fuck your cake!" he blurted, stomping out the front door. "Snobby cocksucker!"

"Bye, Uncle T!" I shut the door and quickly secured the locks. I hope he wasn't seriously considering coming back here with a bulldozer. That would be bad. Really bad.

I returned to the kitchen and slipped into a seat, admiring the cake. It looked so pretty, perfectly rounded, and moist, the generous amount of cocoa dusted over the top was mouthwatering. There were dirty dishes crowding the counter. We had a lot of cleaning up to do, but it'd all be worth it once the cake was ready to be devoured.

"Everything okay?" Agent Smith asked, his attention fully immersed in decorating the cake with chocolate shavings.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I replied. "Uncle T can be really difficult sometimes."

"No need to apologize. He's lovely."

"He's a lot of things, but lovely is _not_ one of them. Can you believe he was searching through my room for drugs?"

He let out an exaggerated gasp. "The audacity!"

"I know, right? Do I look like I do drugs? I mean, I used to, but not anymore."

"That's wonderful. You should be proud."

"You know what? What if he was lying about the whole 'looking for drugs' thing? What if he was looking for something else?"

"Could've been a cover up story, sure. If something doesn't feel right, the best course of action is to investigate. At least, that's what I would do. It's my profession to be a skeptic."

"You're right. I'm going to call him right now and demand the truth—"

"Don't do that," Agent Smith chuckled. "You can't accuse anyone of anything until you have proof of foul play. Evidence first—assuming there is any at all."

"There has to be! Uncle T has never cared to step a foot into my room, ever. Until now. Don't you think that's weird?"

"Definitely suspicious, but perhaps, you could be overreacting?"

"I'm not. I have this bad feeling he was up to no good. He could've stole something or—"

He sighed. "If it'll calm your qualms, we can investigate together. But if we go upstairs and find nothing out of the ordinary, promise me you'll let this go. I'm ready to eat my dessert in peace."

"Deal." With a sudden burst of energy, I sprang to my feet, crossing the kitchen in a quick, purposeful stride. I ascended the stairs two at a time, with Agent Smith ambling behind. After days of neglect, my room was a disaster zone, and flicking on the lights only made it look worse. My clothes and stuffed animals were strewn across my bed, empty ice cream cartons and misplaced shoes cluttered the dusty floor. If my mom saw this, she would kill me.

Normally, I'd be embarrassed to let anyone see my room in this condition, but Agent Smith was an exception. He's been in and out of my room for weeks now, providing all my post breakup needs—lots of sugary snacks, hugs, and words of comfort. He was the only emotional support I had, my bodyguard and best friend.

I carefully weaved my way through the mess to my vanity desk. "Take a look around, let me know if you find anything out of the ordinary."

"This place is a pigsty," Agent Smith strolled to my bed and began folding my clothes. "It's important that you keep a clean home for your overall health and peace of mind. You should invest in an air purifier as well, for the sake of your respiratory system. Breathing in such filth will irritate your allergies…"

I tuned out his babbling and rooted through my drawers one by one, making sure nothing was out of place or missing. All my beauty essentials and jewelry were accounted for, including my emergency money and spare house keys. Oh, and my vibrator too. After a while longer of probing, I found something _odd._

There was a tiny black, box shaped device taped to the roof of the drawer.

"Do you have any idea," Agent Smith continued, "how many dead skin cells you lose in your slumber? Hundreds of thousands, all invisible to the naked eye, but dust mites adore them. They live to disrupt your sleep—watery eyes, itching, sneezing—and who will have to fetch your allergy pills? Me. I will. All I ask is that you change your sheets more often."

"Smith," I grumbled. "Can you stop nagging me for a sec'? I need to show you something."

"You may consider this nagging, but darling, I'm concerned for you." He took my side. "So, what is it now?"

I yanked the box from the drawer and dropped it in his hand. "What is this thing? I never saw it before."

He rose the device to level with his eyes, the knowing arch of his brow creased in concentration. "Oh dear," he muttered under his breath, his smooth, clean-cut face tightened with tension.

"What's wrong?" I frowned. "What is it?"

Energized by some unknown revelation, he scrambled restlessly about the room, frantically clawing through drawers, carelessly flinging clothes and shoes from my closet through the air.

"Stop!" I cried, catching my favorite dresses and heels from hitting the floor. "You're ruining my stuff, asshole!"

By the time he finished raiding my closet, there were three box-shaped devices in his hand, completely identical to the one I found in my drawer. "I'm going to need backup," he declared, flipping my bed over. My stuffed panda hit the floor, disappearing beneath the mattress.

Clenching my hands into tight fists, my body twitched. My stomach pitched and rolled. I dropped to my knees and fished out my panda, hugging him tight. While Agent Smith was distracted destroying everything in his path like an effing maniac, I grabbed my emergency money and swiftly threaded my way out.

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to get out of here. This place was a mad house!

I was a step away from the front door before it was kicked open. Dozens of FIB agents charged inside, swarming my home with their guns raised in an unified formation. Like a punch in the gut, my breath was knocked from my lungs and I had to steady myself against the wall to stay afloat. Strangers in suits surrounded me, bombarding me with questions that I didn't care to answer. Flashbacks of the paparazzi and their blinding lights gnawed at the back of my mind.

I had to get away. I couldn't breathe!

Heart pounding in my ears, I blinked back the tears scalding my eyes and pushed through the suits. I ran and ran until I reached Mom's room, locking myself inside.

I stayed there, alone, until sunrise.

* * *

My house has been under complete lockdown for three days straight. FIB personnel patrolled the halls twenty-four hours a day, no one was allowed to leave or enter. I was a prisoner in my own home, constantly being watched by hard-nosed strangers in black suits. Social media was the only thing keeping me sane, but along with my freedom, the FIB insisted on taking everything I cared about away from me.

I was live streaming on Lifeinvader tonight, showing off a flowy polka dot dress to my stalkers, when a bald, freckled-face woman in a cheap pants suit barged into my bedroom.

"Give me that," she said, snatching my phone away.

I gasped, snatching my device back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"We've been more than lenient with you. The games end now." She stepped up to me, her hand cocked on her hip and red lips curling. "Hand over the phone, you spoiled little slut. Or else I'll take it from you the hard way."

Who the heck died and made her boss? This was my house! I stared up into her green, squinty eyes and said, "What's the matter? Looking for a phone to pawn so you can buy yourself a wig? Too bad, bald-headed bitch. If you want a wig, you're gonna need some edges first."

Her clenched fists trembled, her face flushed a deep scarlet. "If it wasn't for your daddy and Norton, I would beat you like the two-dollar whore you are—"

Agent Smith strolled into the room. "Ms. DeSanta, Agent Blossom—is there a problem?"

"I got new orders from Norton," Agent Blossom replied. "No more Lifeinvader, no Bleeting, no Snapmatic and especially no more live streaming—it's a security risk we can't afford, sir. Her phone must be confiscated."

"That's bullshit," I snapped. "You can't do that! This is _my_ house, _my_ phone—if you want it, you're gonna have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers."

Agent Blossom rolled her eyes. "God, you're such a whiny brat, it's sickening—"

Agent Smith rose a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Blossom, you are dismissed."

"What about our orders?" she argued. "Her phone needs to be confiscated!"

" _Go_!" he hissed bitterly. I flinched, his deep, menacing tone was unnerving. Agent Blossom spun around and took off for the door without another word. I didn't blame her for taking off when she did, but why? Obviously, she didn't seem like the type of girl to be afraid of confrontation.

Agent Smith sagged against the wall and sighed. "That woman is going to be the death of me."

"She needs to be fired like yesterday," I muttered, returning my attention to my phone. Crap, the livestream was still on! My cheeks burned. Talk about embarrassing…but the disruption Blossom the Grouch caused tripled the amount of people watching and roped in hundreds of new users stalking my page. I should be thanking her.

"Sorry about that, everyone," I beamed at the camera. "So, like I was saying, this dress only costs four-thousand dollars at Ponsonboys. I know you're probably thinking, 'wait, that's super-duper cheap, it'll probably rip and tear faster than off-brand toilet paper does' but I promise you, its really soft and good quality. And it won't scratch your butt like cheap toilet paper. You know, just in case you wear a thong or go commando while you're wearing it—"

"Okay, that's enough." With a quick tap on my screen, Agent Smith ended the broadcast.

"Hey!" I grimaced. "That was a major dick move."

"To be frank, you were embarrassing yourself." He strode over to my bed and took a seat. "Come, sit with me. Let's chat."

"No thanks, asshole. I rather talk to a dead rat."

He responded to my sarcastic remark with a warm, inviting smile. "Please, I insist."

"Fine, but only if you promise to leave me alone after."

"You have my word."

I perched myself on the edge of the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. "Okay, what do you want?"

He lowered the curly, tube-like wire from around his ear before speaking. "I have good news and bad news."

"Good news first."

"Your father is a free man. He's coming to pick you up tomorrow morning, to take you to Paleto Bay. He believes it would be best if you stayed with your mother and brother—"

"I'm not going back to the desert," I snapped. "And he can't make me. I rather be a prisoner here than live in the middle of nowhere with the cannibal rednecks."

"Cannibal rednecks, you say?" He grimaced. "I suppose you should stay here then. Anyway, now onto the bad news. Are you aware that the stunt you pulled on live television did nothing but aggravate your enemies further? According to intel, your bounty has doubled."

I swallowed deep, the blood drained from my face. "Are you serious?"

"I'm afraid so. Everyone has their price, good men have set their morals aside for material gain since the beginning of time. Madrazo knows that. There's federal agents at the Bureau making bets, most of them don't think you're going to last the week."

My heart dropped, a cold tremor shot down my back. "Why?" I whimpered. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You don't understand the severity of the situation, darling. You need a reality check and although it pains me to do so, I'm the only sap willing to dish it out cold. It's unprofessional to become emotionally invested while on the clock but I care about you. The death of a friend would affect me greatly."

"Whatever. I'm still not over what you did. You had no right to ransack my room like that."

"It was for your own good. Someone planted bugs in your room, seven of them to be exact."

"Seven?" My flesh crawled. "W-who would do that?"

"I have a few suspects in mind, but no solid evidence." He sighed. "I know you are not happy. I understand you're having a difficult time adjusting to the strict rules we have set in place. It's not fair, but it's necessary. Your safety is our top priority, every precaution we have taken thus far has been solely for your protection—"

My phone hummed in Agent Smith's hand. Someone was calling.

"Who is it?" I asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Your ex-boyfriend," he stated. "Are you going to answer?"

I cringed. "No! You answer it."

"Pardon?"

"Just do it! Tell him I'm busy or something."

He shrugged and answered the call. "Hello? Ah, yes, Tracey is preoccupied at the moment, may I take a message?" Agent Smith stilled as he listened to Franklin's response. With a nod, he handed me the phone and whispered, "It seems urgent."

I stared at the screen and drew a sharp breath, a shiver passed through me. I had no idea what to say, or what to do. I've grown stronger without him, I learned how to stand on my own two feet again. I didn't need him anymore, and I was slowly getting over the heartache. But hearing his voice once again…how would it affect me? I was terrified to find out.

Agent Smith gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "You have the power here, not him. You can do this."

Fingers trembling, I rose the phone to my ear. "Frank?"

"Girl, why's that dude answerin' your phone?" he asked.

I scoffed. He seemed irritable as always. Some things never change. "What do you want?"

"I'm just checkin' in. How you doin'?"

"Good," I lied. "I'm doing great. Amazing."

Franklin let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "That's cool," he mumbled, his words grew somber, lazy, and quiet. "I uh, I wish I could say the same." He paused, a thick silence oozed between us. "I guess I just…needed to hear your voice. Can't stop thinkin' 'bout the times we used to kick it. We been through a lot."

"We have," I said, tears rising unbidden behind my eyelids.

"Talk to me, Trace," he pleaded in a distressed whisper that tore at my heart. "I know I don't deserve it, but I got a lot of shit weighin' on me right now and I _need_ you."

"I-I can't. We're over, okay? You'll find someone else—"

"There's others," he stated. "But shit, they don't mean nothin' to me. They don't get me like you do. No one does."

I fumbled for words, my mouth wide open like a fish, my chest on the verge of caving in.

"Look, I miss you. Tell me you miss me too, that you _love_ me, and I'll come get you, baby." I was so tempted to take his offer, his deeply masculine baritone rumbled in my ear seductively, taut with need and filled with promise. "Lemme make this right. I don't wanna spend another night without you—"

"I have to go," I blurted, dropping the phone. It hit the floor, and the emotions I kept bottled up inside shattered. I broke down, crumbled to my knees, hugging myself as tears rolled down my cheeks. The hole in my heart from the night Franklin and I parted had reopened again, brand new, hollow and stinging like a hot poker through the chest.

In an instant, Agent Smith was at my side. He held and rocked me softly as my tears soaked his shirt. I sunk into his warmth, appreciative of the thoughtful gesture. The soothing touch of a friend helped eased the pain. If only his company was enough to ease the loneliness too. The world was a dull, bleak place without the man I loved.

The door opened, and Agent Blossom marched inside, her expression flat and passionless. "Smith, we have a problem. A big one."

* * *

 **Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter! I know there's been a long gap between updates, but I'm trying to get better at writing consistently. Anywho, l** **eave a review, lemme know what you think. Thanks for reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

**I got another chapter for y'all, two in the same week! Crazy right? It's because I love you guys, and you (including me) deserve more Franklin in your life! (Hint hint) Okay enough spoilers, let's get to reading :D**

* * *

"Smith, we have a problem," Agent Blossom announced. "A big one."

Agent Smith held my quivering body close, his fingers threading through my hair. Although his attention was engrossed in comforting me, he managed to spare Agent Blossom a glance. "How big of a problem?"

A violent boom pierced the air, loud like a crack of thunder, and close enough to force a shrill scream from my throat. Regrettably, I've witnessed enough violence to know a gunshot when I heard one. The booming noise reverberated in my ears, grew rapid and rhythmic almost, like drums of war. And then, there was stillness, thick and foreboding, as if everything around us was collectively holding its breath. The light tapping of raindrops on the window pane was the only indication the world hadn't stopped.

As Agent Smith secured his wired earpiece back into its rightful place, the lights went out, shrouding my room in darkness. I shivered, my hands tightened around his jacket. "What's happening?"

"Stay calm" he whispered, pressing a finger to his ear. "Special Agent Oliver Smith to HQ, we have a code red. Requesting immediate assistance, over." With a grimace, he waited for a response. "I repeat, requesting immediate assistance—"

"It's pointless, sir," Agent Blossom said. "Someone's tampering with our radio signals, no one can get in touch with HQ."

I scrambled for my phone and winced. "I-I can't get a signal!"

"I suppose we're on our own then." Agent Smith rose and drew a handgun from the depths of his jacket. "Blossom, you're with me. And Tracey…" He knelt before me, wiping my tears with a brush of his thumb. "You will stay here and remain hidden until I return," he tipped up my chin with his forefinger, our eyes met. "Do you understand?"

I nodded somberly. "Please, don't die out there."

Despite the severity of the situation, he managed to crack a smile, patting my head firmly, teasingly, the playful gesture soothed my nerves somewhat. But once him and Blossom left, I was shaking like a leaf again, consumed by darkness, huddled on the floor in a heap of discarded dresses and high heel shoes.

The shooting started up again, but unlike before, there was groaning, and tortuous cries of anguish intertwined with the crackle of gunfire. People were dying! I pressed my hands against my ears, rocking back and forth in misery as I tried to block out the sound of death.

I lost track of time waiting for the madness to end. The wall clock ticked and ticked like a timer of a bomb, staring at me mockingly. Every second felt like hours. An icy chill prickled my skin with goosebumps, the coldness was brain numbing.

Through the noisy commotion of heated battle, the _thump_ of shoes against the hardwood floor emanated from the hall. Every step was louder than the last, a harrowing warning of a threat approaching. I yelped, my fight-or-flight response kicking in. I had no chance against a gun! So I scrabbled across the floor to the closet, shutting myself inside and surrendering to the darkness.

Peeking through the tiny slits in the paneled door, I spotted Agent Smith as he barged into the room. "Tracey?" he asked, eyes darting about in search for me. "Love, where are you?"

I swallowed deep, hesitant to move. During my state of fearful paralysis, a masked intruder with a gun stalked behind my bodyguard with murderous intent.

"She's as good as dead, puto," said the masked intruder. "Tell me where she is and—" In one swift, deliberate movement, Agent Smith spun around, and a bullet spat from his hand. There was a flash, bright and blinding, as the tiny projectile penetrated the intruder's knee. He cried out in pain but was quickly silenced by another shot through his forehead. Blood sprayed from the smoking hole in his skull. He crumbled to the ground lifelessly.

Finally, the gunfire ceased. I could hear myself think. Agent Blossom entered the room with two other agents at her side. I sighed, my racing heartbeat gradually slowed.

They did it! Everything was going to be okay.

I took a step forward to exit the closet but froze once Blossom and the two brutish-looking agents beside her raised their weapons on Smith.

"You've always been a good shot, Smith," Agent Blossom said, an ugly sneer curled her lip. "Quick. Deadly. But your reflexes won't help you three against one."

Smith gazed at his partners with a blank expression on his face. "I beg your pardon? What is the meaning of this?"

"Isn't it obvious? We want the brat! She's worth millions and goddamn it, we're tired of putting our asses on the line for only nickels and dimes—fucking garbage men make more than we do."

I grimaced, my face flushing a deep red. _This can't be happening…_

"Bloody hell!" Agent Smith snorted and threw his hands up in the air. "You're going to hand an innocent girl over to Madrazo because you're not getting paid enough? How dare you? Have you no integrity?"

"Fuck you," Blossom spat. "I have a nine-year-old daughter and I'm behind on mortgage payments. Integrity won't pay the bills."

"It isn't personal," said one of the agents beside her. "We just need the money."

Agent Smith shook his head. "And how do you three expect to get away with such a despicable crime?"

"Easy," Blossom replied. "Madrazo has too much heat on him to get anywhere near the brat, dead or alive, which saves us the trouble of kidnapping her and bringing her to him. He has no choice but to settle with proof, meaning we can kill her whenever, and however we want. At first, we were planning on making it look like a suicide, but it'll be much easier to just shoot her and frame one of the dead guys downstairs."

"Interesting," Agent Smith said. "Madrazo's lackeys breaking in seemed to work entirely in your favor. Quite the coincidence."

"Enough chitchat. You're either with us, or against us, Smith. What's it gonna be?"

"I'd sooner die than work with the likes of you traitorous whelps—"

Agent Blossom pulled the trigger, a hot bullet penetrated my bodyguard's gut. I shuddered, covering my mouth to suppress an upsurge of sobs. He sank to his knees, clutching the wound, blood stained his tailored suit.

"Secure the area," Blossom instructed the other agents, showing no visible signs of remorse for what she had done. "Tie up any loose ends you can find. Leave the brat to me."

Her partners in crime nodded obediently and took off. As if she had an all-knowing sixth sense, her eyes darted to my hiding spot. "I know you're in there, little bitch." She yanked open the closet doors and fisted a handful of my hair. "I can smell a slut from a mile away."

I gritted my teeth, a crimson haze clouded my vision. No one hurts my bodyguard and gets away with it! "You must be smelling your upper lip, whore!" Balling my hands into fists, I punched her in the face. _**Bam!**_ She stumbled, dropping her gun. Pain exploded in my knuckles from the contact. _Ouch_. Did punching people always hurt this bad?

"You're going to pay for that," Blossom sneered, shrugging out of her jacket. She was tall, lean, and built—the muscles in her arms more defined than any woman I've ever seen. She rolled her neck, cracking the muscles audibly, the veins in her bald head throbbed savagely. "I'm going to beat you dead. Any last words?"

I winced, taking a step back. "I'm sorry for calling you a whore?"

With an inarticulate scream of rage, she barreled at me recklessly. I flung toward the door, barely avoiding her grasp. Heels clicking against the floor, I scrambled down the hall, screaming at the top of my lungs for help. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. She was going to kill me!

As I spun to descend the stairs, I bumped into a broad chest. My head jerked up. I locked eyes with Franklin. The two agents Blossom worked with laid unconscious at the bottom of the steps. All that remained was her. Desperately, I clutched Franklin's shirt and stabbed a finger at the madwoman tailing behind me.

"Do something!" I begged. "She's trying to kill me!"

The moment Agent Blossom was in arm's reach, Franklin's massive fist collided with her face. It was a swift jab, slightly restrained, but the blow packed enough power to knock her off her feet. She propelled backward, the back of her skull hit the hardwood floor roughly. _**Crack!**_ Blood pooled around her bald head, her cranium split in two from the harsh fall.

"Goddamn," Franklin winced, staring at her motionless body. "I think she's dead. Fuck, I didn't mean to—"

"Thank god, you killed her! You saved me!" In an instant, the loneliness, fear, and uncertainty were whisked away. I beamed, ecstatic from his well-timed arrival. A bubbly sensation struck my stomach. For the first time in weeks, I felt high on air. I jumped into his big, powerful arms, my legs hooked around his waist. Sweat streaked his incredible muscles. The tantalizing scent of his cologne graced my nostrils, woodsy and mesmerizingly addictive.

His strong hands clasped my thighs and held me up with little to no effort. My heart swelled with warmth. It was his strength I loved about him most, and his ability to be so tender and attentive when he wanted to be. I peeked over the shotgun strapped to his broad shoulder, down at the masked, bloody bodies piled by front door, broken and disfigured by buckshot shrapnel. It was a gruesome sight, but it was either them or me.

I didn't know how, I didn't know why, but armed like an angel of death come to call, my man was here. With me. Right in the nick of time like always. As long as he was near, I'd be safe. I was a fool to let him go.

"You straight?" he asked, his nose brushing mine lightly. "Did they hurt you, baby?"

I giggled at the familiar sensation of his beard nuzzling my face, ticklish and sweet enough to melt a girl's heart.

"I'm okay," I smiled, hugging him tight. My upbeat demeanor quickly faded to doom and gloom once thoughts of Agent Smith came to mind. "My bodyguard! He needs our help—"

The annoying wail of sirens loomed faintly in the distance. Seriously? _Now_ the police show up?

"Shit, its Five-O," Franklin glanced at Blossom's lifeless body. "I just dropped this white chick—how I'm gon' explain this shit to the po-po?"

"I have to check on my bodyguard first." I dropped from Franklin's arms and hustled to my room. Agent Smith was sprawled on the floor, gasping painfully, his complexion deathly pale. Even though it was his job to protect me, it hurt to see him suffer like this. Over me. He deserved better. "Smith?" I knelt before him, taking his bloody hand. "The police are on the way, they'll get you to a hospital. Are you okay?"

"I've…had much, much better days," his words came out as little more than wheezing whispers. "Ho-how are you, love?"

"I'm okay now that no one's trying to kill me."

"What? But Blossom…"

"My ex-boyfriend saved me from your evil FIB friends."

"O-oh, the ex is here?"

"'Sup, dog," Franklin greeted, scooping up my red cocktail dress from the heap of clothes on the floor. He tried to use it to apply pressure to Agent Smith's wound, but I caught his hand, stopping him.

"Babe, that's my cocktail dress, not a rag," I blurted. "You're gonna get blood all over it! Use something else."

"Looks like a rag to me," he joked, setting my dress aside and choosing another one. "How 'bout this one?"

"Are you kidding? No, all my dresses are off limits."

"Girl, this dude 'bout to bleed the fuck out. What matters more? The dirty ass clothes you leave all over the floor, or his life?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Frank, most of my clothes are worth thousands of dollars. My heels cost even more."

"I'm wo-worth less than the shoes on your feet?" Agent Smith chuckled with a mouthful of blood. "My, I'm offended."

"Smith," I frowned. "I didn't mean it that way—"

"All jokes aside…" Smith huffed. "You two…should go…po-police are not to be trusted. Neither is…t-the Bureau, apparently."

"But what about you?"

A loud _**bang**_ came from downstairs. "Police!" a voice roared. "We got dead bodies in here! Search for survivors!"

" _Go_ ," Agent Smith dismissed us with a wave of his trembling hand.

* * *

I called Dad and told him what happened as soon as we narrowly escaped the police. He was shocked to find out about the FIB turning on me, and said he'd move Mom and Jimmy to a different safehouse, somewhere the Bureau didn't know about. Hopefully Agent Smith made it to the hospital alive and breathing. He could had easily joined sides with Blossom, but he was loyal to me. He was the best bodyguard a girl could ask for.

 _I really hope he's okay…_

I huddled in the front seat of Franklin's car, cozied and comforted by the patter of rain on the roof. We coasted along the open freeway, braving the night, leaving the bustling city and skyscrapers far behind. Our headlights bathed the wet, muddy path ahead in light. Gravel crackled beneath the tires, soundless lightning flickered down from the black sky.

Franklin and I have been on the road for about an hour now. I had no idea where we were going, and I was tempted to ask, but there was excitement, and adventure in not knowing. Freedom. We could go anywhere, do anything, and I'd be safe with Franklin by my side. The farther we drove away from home, the easier it was to put all the awful memories behind me.

Normally, I'd be unnerved by such dark, unfamiliar surroundings. But Franklin's warmth eased my worries. He kept one hand on the stirring wheel, and the other lingered on my thigh, his wide calloused palm caressed my skin in slow, lazy circles. My body tingled with awareness from the mere touch of his capable hands. We've been apart for so long that every slight brush and stroke of his textured fingertips was like a brand new sensation, and I was eager to experience more.

We were quiet most of the drive out of the city. In the comfortably wordless silence, we exchanged appreciative glances and soft smiles at each other every so often. My eyes would occasionally drift down his collarbone to his chest, the impressive biceps bulging from his long-sleeve white shirt holding my gaze for seconds at a time.

His deep brown physique was blatantly sexy, and it was easy to tell. With a body so amazingly sculpted, and face a perfectly rugged depiction of dark beauty—how did he get around without turning heads? Without women dropping at his feet? Maybe a couple of them did while we were separated. My blood boiled at the thought of another woman coming onto him, touching him…

I willed the negative thoughts away. Whatever happened between him and other people during our breakup was his business. It wasn't fair or sensible to be jealous over random assumptions. Furthermore, I was the one walked away. Not him.

As of right now, everything was perfect. I wondered what he was thinking, if he was happy, if he enjoyed the simplicity of my presence alone as much as I did his.

So I broke the silence and asked him, "What are you thinking?"

"About you," he admitted sheepishly.

I shifted toward him, intrigued. "What about me?"

"That interview you had on live TV."

My stomach dropped. "Um, you watched it?"

"Yeah, me and just 'bout every other motherfucker in the world did. Remember when you called me a cruel, grouchy fucknut—"

"Douchenozzle-fucknut," I corrected.

"You said I kicked you around worse than a dead cat," he continued with a snort. "That I was a black thug with mood swings—"

Clenching my jaw, I blurted, " _Stop!_ I know what I said, alright? You don't have to remind me. You want an apology or something?"

"Nah." His full lips pressed into a teasing smirk. "You were mad as hell, girl. I get it. But for the record, I ain't never kick you like no damn cat—physically, or metaphorically, a'ight?" He reached out to pinch my cheek.

The light touch forced a giggle from my lips. "Whatever. I'm still mad at you, jerk. You saving my life for the hundredth time doesn't change that. Hey, how'd you know I was in trouble in the first place?"

"I called you. We talked, you said you had to go, but you didn't hang up. I heard the gunshots, I heard you cryin'…"

Unsure of what to say, I uttered, "Oh."

"Ay, my bad for fightin' with your pops, talkin' shit 'bout your moms—that wasn't cool. I didn't mean none of it. Sometimes my anger takes control and shit goes downhill from there, you feel me?" His voice softened. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you, Trace. I'm sorry for pushin' you away whenever you try to get closer. I should be lettin' you in, sometimes I can, but when I get angry…"

"You shut me out," I added. "You need to learn how to control your temper."

"Fo' sho'." His brows furrowed thoughtfully. "You know, these past few weeks, I've been thinkin' 'bout all the arguments we had, and every single one of them leads back to Madrazo. I'm not tryna make excuses for my behavior, but that motherfucker has been puttin' a strain on our relationship since the very beginnin'." He flashed a toothy smile, warm and disarming, like a saint that could do no wrong. "We can't let 'em tear us apart, sweetie."

I blushed, a pang of longing shot through me. God, he really knew how to turn on the charm when he wanted to.

Franklin dipped a hand into his jean pocket and withdrew a blunt. "You mind?"

"No," I replied. "As long as you don't start driving like maniac."

"Nah, I'ma be straight. Ay, I got a lighter in the glovebox. Can you get it?"

"Sure." I fumbled through the junk in the glove compartment and retrieved it, helping him light the blunt while he focused on the road.

"Thanks." He opened the window beside him to a crack, took a long pull, and blew the smoke out from his flaring nostrils. "You want a hit?"

"No, I quit."

"Cool, wish I could do that. Been rollin' up for years, a true motherfuckin' pothead. The good shit helps me relax. But, there was a point in my life where I was havin' some real bad trips, started thinkin' all types of crazy shit whenever I got faded."

"Crazy stuff like what?"

"Dark shit. Depressin' shit." He dragged deep, holding the smoke in the depths of his lungs for quite some time, refusing to let go. Then, he puffed it out in cool rings that braved the air for a moment, only to be sucked away through the cracked window. "The type of shit you don't say out loud to nobody," he continued, "Unless you want cats to think you crazy. And then, one day, not that long ago actually, I was cyphing a blunt with some homies, and the fucked up thoughts stopped."

"How?" I asked.

"I met a girl, somebody special," he glanced at me. "I smoothed shit over with the only bit of family I had left." He plucked his blunt out the window. "Realized it was the loneliness that was killin' me—no one givin' a fuck whether you live or die—I couldn't come to terms with that shit. Wasn't strong enough to accept that reality."

"You shouldn't have to." I took his hand, our fingers intertwined. "You have me. I'm right here. You're not alone."

"For real? You finna stick around this time?"

"That depends on you, stud. Don't be a dick and I'll consider it."

He chuckled. "I hear you. I'll be on my best behavior, promise."

Through the darkness and rain, the neon lights of a bar glittered in the distance, like a beacon among the shadowy shrubs and endless green foliage. The desolate structure was built on a natural rise in the sandy dirt, rectangular and unpainted, the splintery wooden foundation had a crude, rustic appeal. Despite its remote location, business seemed to be bustling, the large parking lot was crammed with vehicles.

My stomach growled the moment I laid eyes on the place. I licked my dry lips. "Can we stop here for food?"

With silent compliance, he turned into the sizable parking lot, and cut the engine between a big rig and station wagon. I stepped out into the rain, the gentle pellets cooled my skin and dampened my hair. It was a comfortable drizzle, light and misty. The fragrance of damp earth and grass sweetened the moist air. Soft droplets trickled down my face and I closed my eyes, relishing the sensation.

Franklin's arms wrapped around me from behind. I leaned back into his embrace, his strong body molded to mine.

His fingers toyed with my hair, brushing the wet strands back from my face. "You like the rain?" he asked.

"It's nice," I said. "But snow is even better."

"San Andreas ain't the right place for you then. Never snows here."

"Right? It sucks. I miss North Yankton. It's cold as heck, but the snow is beautiful there."

He planted a small kiss on my head. "C'mon, let's get you somethin' good to eat."

Hand in hand, we entered the bar. It was noisy inside, loud voices and laughter competed with the lively, upbeat music dominating the atmosphere. Servers weaved through the dimly-lit room with their trays held high, avoiding the bodies gyrating on the dancefloor. All the wooden stools at the counter were taken, so we settled for a booth in the back, tucked away from most of the chatter and commotion.

A server took our order shortly after we arrived, and it was a pleasant surprise how quickly she returned with our food and drinks. The small chili cheese nachos I ordered turned out to be way bigger than I expected, but thankfully I had Franklin to share it with.

Brows furrowed, he watched me eagerly chug down an entire mug of water. "Damn, girl," he snickered as I chugged his ginger ale next. "If I knew you were that thirsty, I woulda stopped at the last joint we passed."

I set the empty glasses aside and dug into the nachos next. "It's okay," I said with my mouth full. "So what's the plan? What are we going to do about Madrazo?"

He gazed out the foggy window, his expression darkening with an unreadable emotion. "I've been makin' moves against his homies, mostly pawns and shit, but every time I wipe them off the chessboard, them motherfuckers come right back. It's frustratin' as fuck."

"Screw the pawns. You should go straight for the king, get a checkmate in the fewest amount of turns possible like the pros do."

"Shit, if only it was that easy. The king is playin' smart, won't let me get nowhere near him." He reached out across the table and clasped my hand. "Fuck it though, I ain't worried 'bout shit. Everythin' is cool, I'm here with you and that's all that matters. I think we both deserve a break from the bullshit, at least for a night, right?"

I smiled. "Totally. I needed this. You have no idea how bad my life has been sucking lately. Since you've been gone…" I stopped myself, my voice trailing off. I wasn't ready to be emotionally vulnerable with him, to leave my heart exposed just so he can break it again.

He stared at me, his gaze intense and searching as if I was some tricky puzzle he couldn't figure out. An uncomfortable silence descended over us. I avoided his probing eyes and focused on stuffing my mouth with nachos.

The hypnotic rhythm of _Drake_ "Take Care" seeped through the jukebox speakers and I couldn't help but tap a foot to the beat.

"Ay, you wanna dance?" Franklin asked.

My pulse quickened at the suggestion. "What?"

"You heard me. C'mon, girl. I thought dancin' was your thing."

"It is, but I don't do slow dancing—"

"You do now." With a gentle tug, he helped me to my feet. Our fingers intertwined, reluctantly, I let him wind our way to the dancefloor. I wasn't really in the mood to party, but once we locked eyes—his beautiful brown gaze smoldering with such heartrending tenderness—I couldn't look away. He drew close, my brain faltered as his masculine scent enveloped me.

Intimately, he pulled me against him until our lower bodies swayed in unison. I was mystified by his smooth, yet gentle movement. It was a paradox for a man so powerful and deadly to be so delicate at the same time. I rested my head on his chest, melting into the warm, safe embrace of his body.

He cradled my neck with his hand, his thumb brushing my cheek. I smiled, my skin tingled beneath his tender touch.

Franklin sighed. "I think— _I know_ I can't live without you, and baby, it's drivin' me crazy."

I shivered, my nerves danced, my stomach did a quick cartwheel. "What's gotten into you, Frank? You're never this sweet."

"Nah, I'm just bein' honest."

"Frank?"

He tilted his head, gazing at me. "Wassup?"

"Do you love me?"

"Girl, you know I do. You wanna know why?"

I beamed. "Why?"

"'Cause you wear your heart on your sleeve. You ain't afraid to be soft, to be vulnerable. I didn't know how to love until I met you. You taught me a lot, baby." Astonished by his sincerity, I froze, speechless, struggling to remember how to breathe as the man I loved spilled his truth. "Mike and Amanda think you deserve better than my ass. But they're wrong. Fuck what everybody else thinks—I ain't the man yo' parents want you to be with, but I am the man you _need_."

He clutched my chin with tender strength and forced me to look up at him. "Can't no one take care of you like me, protect you like me, love you like I do…" He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that made my head reel. The long, slow brush of his lips threatened my restraint and control. I was drowning in man, in the irresistibly bitter yet sweet taste, scent, and feel of him.

He had let down his walls, openly revealed his truth, and finally showed me real passion—and I loved him all the more for it.

Franklin broke the kiss with a growl, and instead of letting me go, he pulled me even closer. "I missed you," he confessed. "You still mine?"

"Yes," I said shamelessly, earnestly. "I'm yours. _I love you._ "

His teeth gleamed in a grin, a blush crept across his cheeks. Yearning to feel his soft, full lips again, I stood on the tip of my toes and kissed him. Receptive and eager to please, he gave me what I wanted, seducing me with hot, deep glides of his tongue through my parted lips. Our breath mingled, and a crackle of energy passed between us, hot and raw. He palmed my hips, squeezing and caressing, the slow burn of desire ignited my core.

Shrouded in dim-lighting and shadows, my boyfriend grew bold, his lips wandered over my neck, sucking, licking, teeth nibbling. He left rough, possessive love bites behind. I shuddered, clutching his shoulders to stop my weak knees from giving out, the pain and pleasure he offered forced a tight moan from my lips.

I ran a hand over the corded muscles of his chest, relishing the hardness, his thundering heart pounded against my fingertips.

There was tortuous heat in my veins and between my legs. I tried to ignore the aching need, but once his hips started moving, grinding against me sinfully, the threshold of my self-restraint reached its breaking point. The dark, erotic image of being pinned beneath his hard body and fucked to blissful oblivion consumed my mind.

I had to have him, _all_ of him.

"Frank…" I panted, my breathing ragged. "Can we…take the nachos to go?"

He nodded and chuckled. "Sure, I'm cool with that." He dragged his lips from my neck and kissed my forehead gently. "You good?"

"I'm effing horny and I want you." I planted one last kiss on his broad nose. "But besides that, I'm perfect."

The burst of red staining his cheeks deepened. "Shit, I want you too. I gotta pay the bill real quick before we go…" Despite his words, he seemed reluctant to release me, his hands swirling strokes up and down my back. With no desire to withdraw from his protective embrace, I sighed in delight, my arms encircled his neck.

Franklin had hugged me plenty of times before, but never so tight and clinging, his fingers trembling with unwillingness to let me go. Surrounded by the indescribable power and intense emotion radiating from him, the world melted away, my eyelids fluttered close. My body sagged against him, my worries fading into nothingness, a deep warmth exploded in my chest.

We were inseparable. I needed him, badly. And for the first time ever, I could _feel_ how severely he needed me too. There was no uncertainty, no second guessing it. He really was in love with me.

Lost in the moment, we held each other on the dancefloor as bodies weaved around us to the soulful music blasting from the jukebox. Life was like a pleasant dream I never wanted to wake up from. Although, standing up for so long in high heels was beginning to become a chore. My feet were sore and my legs weary, but an hour or two of lovemaking would cure more than a couple of aches.

My fingers absently rubbing his bearded cheek, I said, "Should I wait for you in the car?"

He blinked as if snapping out of a trance. "Nah, stay with me. Bad shit happens whenever I take my eyes off you."

I linked arms with him, and he escorted me back to our booth. I scooped up my nacho bowl and Franklin dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the table, leaving behind a sizable tip for the server. We stepped outside and was greeted by the harrowing boom of thunder and hot, steaming downpour. The heavy rain saturated my skin. I ran across the slippery pavement, skipping over puddles toward the car, my posture sluggish from the weight of my drenched clothes.

A hand grasped my arm with gentle authority, stopping my advance in the center of the parking lot. Riveted to the spot beneath the glow of street lamps, Franklin slipped in front of me. Rain trickled down our faces, his expression serious and gaze unsteady with thought. He seemed strangely preoccupied by something.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice raised over the hammering rain. My stomach hardened with anxiety as I waited for an answer.

He cupped my cheek, his movement slow and deliberate like the rapid downpour didn't bother him at all. His amber eyes alarmingly direct, he looked me straight in the eye and the most sacred of words slipped from between his lips—an unbelievable proposition I never thought I'd hear for years to come.

"Marry me," he said.

I cackled, my knees weak with laughter. He had to be joking. I was sure of it.

But then he dropped to one knee. A black velvet box and diamond ring emerged from his open palms. My brain stuttered, and I stumbled back, breathless. Confused. Dazed.

It wasn't a joke. He was proposing. To _me._

"Say yes," he said. "And we can run away together like you wanted, leave all the bullshit behind and go anywhere—San Fierro, Las Venturas, Liberty City, Vice City, Carcer, North Yankton—say yes, and I'll take you all over the world, babe. Just you and me."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I hope it was a good read. Leave a review, lemme know what you think! Love y'all!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey y'all! In celebration for valentine's day, I give you fluff! And more fluff! (Warning, things get a little explicit toward the end) Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Through the warm downpour and bright streaks of lightning ripping the night sky, I stared wide-eyed at the diamond ring in Franklin's hand. I was at a loss of words, breathless and still as a statue, my mind struggled to comprehend what the heck was happening. He wanted to marry me—the only man I ever loved—wanted me to be his wife! Was I dreaming? I had to be dreaming…I couldn't be this lucky.

"Baby, are you okay?" he asked, still propped on one knee, his voice taut and strained with concern. "Say somethin', anything—"

" _Why?_ " I mumbled through trembling lips, tears blinded my eyes and choked my voice. "W-why are you proposing to me?"

Franklin stood and gathered me into a warm, comforting hug. Our eyes locked, the intensity of his amber gaze sent a rush of desire coiling through me. "I'm in love with you, Trace," he said. "No more games, no more bullshit—I wanna be with you, baby. Marry me, be mine and I promise I won't ever leave you. I wanna be your forever, girl." He swallowed deep, a vivid flush of red stained his cheeks. "I mean…if it's cool with you—"

" _Yes!_ " I squealed. A burst of energy humming through me, I jumped into his arms and clung to him, my legs straddled his waist. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" I blurted in a frantic, breathy rush, our cheeks nuzzling, shameless giggles slipped through my lips from the ticklish sensation of his neatly trimmed beard. I was practically bursting at the seams with emotion, my limbs quivered as I held onto him desperately.

He was the best boyfriend ever! And now, he was gonna be the best fiancé ever!

A cute, sheepish grin softened his rugged face. Gripping a fistful of my hair, he sealed his mouth over mine and the world ceased to exist, the warm downpour blurred and hazy like fog. But Franklin was clear as day. I couldn't take my eyes off him, his deep brown skin gleamed like a star in the night. He was a well over six feet, amazing specimen of impeccable masculinity and savage beauty, and I was incredibly lucky to have him all to myself.

"Let's get out of here," I murmured against his lips.

Franklin whisked me to the car, planting soft little kisses along my cheek and neck the entire way. He opened the door, and gently set me down in the passenger seat, out of the rain. He took the wheel and started the ignition. I was desperate to get away from here, to find the nearest motel so we can make love until the crack of dawn, but I couldn't wait. His nearness was overwhelming. My hands ached for his touch.

I reached out to him before he managed to step on the gas, my mouth crashing against his greedily. The fierce urgency of the kiss caused a pleased murmur to escape him. My tongue traced the soft fullness of his lips. He sighed, the bulge between his legs twitched for attention. I gave him what he wanted, stroking him through the fabric of his jeans, taunting him, teasing him. Flustered with need, Franklin's breathing grew ragged, his body tensed beneath my fingertips. Stirred by impulse, he lifted my damp dress and fisted my panties, tearing the fabric from my skin in one mighty, effortless pull. I shivered, arousal coiling inside me from his brute strength. In one quick, dexterous movement, his hand slipped between my legs, rubbing me, his calloused finger tantalized my clit with delicious friction.

I gasped, clinging to him, my thighs spreading shamelessly to receive him. My body was on fire, my core so wet and slick from his touch—I was sure I could come from the caress of his fingers alone. The pleasure intensified with every stroke, his free hand clutched my neck, holding me still as he ravaged my bruised lips with deep, achingly sweet kisses.

For a moment, I felt uncomfortably vulnerable, my eyes darted to the windshield. The glass was tinted and drenched with rain, but what if someone was lurking close enough to see us? Maybe I was just paranoid, considering all the crap that's been happening lately—

His pace quickened, disrupting my thoughts, sending sensation after sensation curdling through me. I shuddered, my pleasure doubled. "Frank…"

He broke the kiss and gazed at me. An easy smile of masculine triumph tugged at his lips at the sight of my flustered expression, feverish with lust for him. His forehead touching mine, he asked, "Damn, you gon' come for me already, baby?"

"I-I…missed you," I said, raking my fingers through his short, curly strands. We've been apart for so long that every slight touch awakened nerve endings long forgotten, exhilarating me.

"I missed you too." Stroke after sensuous stroke, he patiently brought me to the brink of rapture. He knew what I liked, his practiced fingers caressing all the right places. I clutched his muscled arm, trembling violently, barely able to keep myself afloat as a slow, heated roll of pleasure overwhelmed me. I rode out my climax, his name slipped through my teeth again and again until the ripples of sensation faded into a pleasantly aching warmth.

I slumped against him, my head rested against his shoulder, struggling to catch my breath. Casually, shamelessly, he rose his wet fingers to his mouth and slowly sucked away my juices. A smile quirked his lips, savoring the taste. I shivered, my blood simmering from the erotic sight.

"You taste good," Franklin stated matter-of-factly. He clutched my hand with both of his and slipped the diamond engagement ring on my finger. It glittered beneath the dimly lit dome lights overhead with a luster of its very own, bouncing brilliant rays of sparkly white around us. The jewel was impossibly bright, and huge like a rock—how much did he pay for this thing?

Tears of unbridled joy welled in my eyes at the sight of the beautiful ring embellishing my finger. I couldn't believe it! It was actually happening, I was going to be married—to the love of my life no less. I glanced at Franklin. His face, handsome by any measure, broke into an easy, lopsided smile. Hypnotized and intrinsically transfixed by the careless charm he emanated, I reached out to him. My fingertip traced a line from his jawline to cheek, the brush of his rugged beard felt sexy against the softness of my skin.

Tentatively, Franklin wiped the tears brimming on my eyelids. "You good?"

Swamped with emotion, I let out a bubbly giggle, my skin tingling. "I love you so much," I said, clinging to his large arm like glue. "You're so amazing, and perfect—"

He bit down a smile, his cheeks reddening. "You know, I hate it when you say soft shit like that. Makes my stomach feel all mushy—"

"Like butterflies?"

"Yeah. Somethin' like that. Sappy ass emotions make me uncomfortable. Well, they used to. Been havin' so much of them lately that I ain't too sure no more." He sighed regretfully. "You turnin' me into a sensitive motherfucker and I dunno how to feel about it."

"Hey," I frowned. "Sensitive looks good on you, Frank. It's okay to feel things, especially around me. I won't hurt you."

"Girl, you better not," he pushed me away playfully.

Giggling, I glanced at the distracting bulge in his jeans and licked my lips. He needed some attention, and I was more than willing to give it to him. I reached out for his zipper, but he caught my hand.

"Nuh-uh," Franklin said. "That can wait."

"What? Why? I wanna taste you too."

"You will. We got our whole lives ahead of us to do freaky shit." He stepped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot, our tires glided carefully along the wet, dark freeway. "Ay, put on yo' seatbelt."

With an exaggerated sigh, I followed his command. "Babe, you can't just fingerfuck me and not let me touch you afterwards. It's not fair."

"Baby, you _can_ touch me," he said. I reached out for him, and he caught my hand yet again. "Just not there."

"Ugh! You are so difficult."

"Ay, stop with the pouty shit. There's somewhere I wanna take you."

"Where?"

"Not tellin', it's a surprise. But it's gon' be a long ride. You tired?"

"Kinda. It's been a long day and I just wanna cuddle and fall asleep with my loving, and super amazing fiancé."

" _Fiancé_ …" He snorted. "That's gon' take some gettin' used to. Didn't think a nigga like me would ever be boyfriend material. Shit, I never thought 'bout marriage a day in my motherfuckin' life until just recently. A few months ago, I was still in the hood, broke as fuck with barely a pot to piss in, gangbanging and bustin' on fools for scraps. I was fuckin' wild—ready to die for the streets. Man, I was a fuckin' idiot."

"And now you're here," I said. "You made it out of that terrible place. You were destined for greater things, like being _my_ soon-to-be husband. God, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you. It's going to be perfect!"

"Nah, we finna have our ups and downs like we always do. But I'm hopin' the good times outweigh the bad."

"You're such a realist." Absently, I twisted my ring around my finger. "So what does this mean for us, really? No more hanging out at the strip club with Uncle T? Or killing people? Or stealing?"

He hesitated to answer, his lips pressed into a fine line.

My heart clenched. "Seriously? Frank?"

"I can't promise I won't run down on a nigga if he deserves it, or boost shit if I got to—"

"You don't have to do any of that crap anymore," I snapped. "Murder and robbery is totally beneath you. And so are those dirty skanks at Vanilla Unicorn. They only want you for your money, you know that right? It's pathetic, those classless hookers give women a bad name. Instead of jumping on literally every penis that moves, why don't they find a normal job like everyone else?"

"It ain't that simple. There's a lot of females out there who pay the bills and put food on the table for their families. Sometimes the conventional way of earnin' bread ain't an option."

A quick stab of jealousy made me stiffen. "Why are you defending those hookers? Are you sleeping with them?"

He cringed. "What? Nah—"

"We're engaged, you dick! Why would you even propose to me if you aren't going to be faithful? Why do you need strippers if you have me? Why—"

"Trace!" Franklin blurted, his face tightened into a scowl. "For real? You really think I'd fuck a stripper and jeopardize everythin' we built? I don't need none of them fake ass bitches at the club. I don't need a motherfuckin' thing…" He paused, exhaling a burst of air through his flared nostrils. His voice softened. "All I need is you, a'ight? I've been loyal to you from the beginnin', and that ain't finna change, especially over no damn strippers."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Lyin' ain't really my thing."

"Unless it's to the cops?"

He snorted. "Yeah."

I crossed my arms over my chest. Franklin was honest, brutally so, but I still had my doubts. Mom and Dad were happily married now, but they used to cheat on each other literally all the time. It was terrible, so much lies and betrayal—how the heck did they stand to look at one another after everything they've done?

"Ay," Franklin nudged me for my attention. "If I gotta put in more work to earn your trust—cool. But you can't just accuse me of doin' shady shit out of nowhere like that. It's fucked up."

"You're hot, and rich, the perfect catch," I said. "I bet women practically throw themselves at you when I'm not around."

"So? Don't mean you gotta jump to conclusions and overanalyze shit. We been inseparable since the day we met, except for when you dumped my ass. Think about it, there ain't no way I coulda cheated on you." His hand tightened over my forearm in a grip of rough affection. "Look, I gave you that ring 'cause I don't need nothin' on the side. Believe it or not—I love you. Just you."

A pang of regret struck my chest. His impassioned words were laced with cold logic and blatant sincerity. I had no right to question his loyalty without proof or reason. "I know you love me," I mumbled, staring blankly at my lap. "I'm so used to everything going wrong in my life and then you came along…it feels too good to be true, you know? I don't wanna get hurt again."

"I feel you." Franklin slouched back into his seat, his brows furrowed in thought as he gaped at the open freeway. "It's okay to be scared, Trace. I would be too if I were you. I hurt you a lot in the past, always pushin' you away 'cause I was too jaded to let yo' ass in. You were patient with me, more than you shoulda been, but everybody got their breaking point."

"What made you change?"

"I lost my baby, the one person I cared 'bout most. Shit like that can change a motherfucker, for better or for worse."

I frowned. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Nah, it's cool. You been through a lot tonight, girl. Ain't you tired? You should get some sleep."

"Trying to get rid of me already?" I shifted toward him. "What if I have a nightmare?"

"You won't have no bad dreams. I'm with you. I'll protect you from the monsters, sweetie."

Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, his palm reclaimed its rightful place on my thigh. His touch was light and painfully teasing, my breath hitched from the intimate caress of his fingers between my legs. My thighs fell open at their own accord, my body already hot and ready for him once again. He stole a quick glance at me and swallowed deep.

"Damn, baby…" Franklin muttered, his voice strained, and taut with need. "You are fine as hell. I could just…" He stopped himself, his words trailing off.

Curious, I poked his shoulder. "Go on, finish what you were about to say."

"I could pull over to the side of the road right now and fuck the shit outta you."

A soft gasp escaped me at the thought of it. "What's stopping you?"

"Common fuckin' decency and respect—that's what. And I don't wanna hurt you."

"I appreciate the concern, but I'm way tougher than I look. I can handle anything you dish out, no problem."

He cackled. "Baby, yo' narrow ass is delicate as hell. Arms and legs all thin and frail, you need more calcium in those bones, girl. It takes conscious effort on my part not to break somethin' by mistake."

"Whatever, dick." With a smile, I swatted his hand and shifted away. "If you're so worried about hurting me, keep your grubby mitts off my kitty cat. And will you stop tearing apart my effing panties? Keep it up and I won't have any left to put on."

"Relax, baby. I can buy you some new drawers, it's all good."

"Just so you can rip them to shreds like the others? No thanks."

Trying to suppress a gurgle of laughter, he said, "Them little thongs you be wearin' are cute and all, but all I care 'bout is gettin' to that fufu and that booboo, you feel me?"

I threw my head back and laughed. "That sounds exactly like something Lamar would say. His humor definitely rubbed off on you."

"Oh, fo' sho'. I spent most of my life bein' a menace to society with that psychotic ass nigga." He pinched my thigh playfully. "For real though, you gon' lemme cop a feel of that booty or not?"

" _Not_."

He snickered. "What 'bout just one ass cheek?"

"No."

"Titties?"

"Nope."

"One titty?"

"Not even."

"A nipple?"

"You're pushing your luck."

"What 'bout the kitty cat? Can I—"

"Heck no. Stop asking."

"You better close them legs, girl." He reached out, making a grabby hand at my crotch. "Where that thang at? I'm gon' get it, I'm gon' have me some poontang pie tonight—"

"Stop!" I squealed, squirming away from him. "Back off, or I will kick you in the chest so hard, the blood flow to your heart will stop and you'll die an instant, tragic death of cardiac arrest. Got it?"

He grinned and pulled away. "Shit, it was worth a try."

I yawned, a sudden wave of fatigue struck me. My limbs grew heavy. I wanted to stay up and spend more quality time with my fiancé, considering he was rarely in such a mischievous, playful mood, but maybe it was best if I got some rest. It's been a long night, and we had our whole lives ahead of us to be together.

"Frank, I'm gonna get some sleep," I said, my head lolled against the seat. "Wake me up when we get there, okay?"

"I got you," he smiled. "Sleep tight, babe."

* * *

I awoke to the blinding glow of the morning sun through the windshield, its radiance bathed my face in warmth. Surrounded by steep cliffs of green woodland, peppered with groves and expansive grassy basins, our car cruised along the winding path of an unknown mountain road. The old trail was in poor condition, and seemed to be rarely traveled, the concrete cracked and uneven. My stomach flipped with every bump and jerk.

"Mornin'," Franklin greeted. "Sleep a'ight?"

"I guess." I rubbed my eyes and glanced at him. "Where are we?"

"Mount Chiliad."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Chill out. You'll see."

Franklin made a turn off the main road onto a hidden dirt path tucked snugly between stubby trees and weedy overgrowth. The jagged path gave way to a small house of honey-yellow sandstone blocks, handcrafted and sturdy, bordered by a small pond of blue, sun-dappled water, lily pads drifted lightly along the surface. Birds sang and danced on the large chimney poking from the flat roof, and squirrels scurried through the rose garden adorning the front, the delicate pedals vividly bright and inviting.

The house had a majestic, fairytale-like charm, the incredible contrast of rich colors was breathtaking. I climbed out of the car to admire the stunning view. A hand descended on my shoulder from behind.

"You like it?" Franklin asked.

"Are you kidding?" I smiled. "I love it! It's beautiful. Are we going to stay here? Who's house is this?"

"Ay, let's go look around inside," he said, avoiding my questions. "C'mon."

He sprung forward, his fingers intertwined with mine. The moment we stepped into the one-story dwelling, I flung from room to room, heels clicking against the hardwood as I admired the neatly placed rustic furniture, devoid of dust and speckled with colorful red cushions. Velvet curtains hung from the rounded windows, and the stone walls were embellished tons of abstract paintings of cute, fluffy animals.

Someone had really set the mood for romance here, a trail of rose pedals led to a dim-lit bedroom of gold colored fairy lights. The sweet aroma of jasmine scented the space, vivid red pedals embellished the satin sheets of the curtain draped canopy bed. Despite all the thoughtfully placed décor, the luxury hot tub was the most remarkable. The clear, sapphire blue water looked incredibly warm and inviting.

There was a walk-in closet too! And the spotless white bathroom had heated panels, towel warmers, and head-to-toe shower jets! It was the dream home—modern and remote, a tiny palace in the wilderness.

But who's house was this? Whoever it did belong to, they weren't anywhere to be found. Why would Franklin take me here?

I found him lounging on the cedar log sofa in the living room, his eyes dark smudges of exhaustion. "Hey," I greeted, leaning against him, my face tilted toward his. "Are you okay?"

He gathered me in his arms, hugging me close. "I'm good, just tired. Been on the road all night, you know how it is. So, what you think of the crib?"

"Kinda far from the rest of the world but it's amazing. Who owns this place?"

"You do." He rooted through his jean pocket and pulled out a jangling set of keys. "It's yours."

I gaped at him. "What?"

"It's an engagement gift."

My mouth dropped, heartbeat racing, my stomach tingled with both nausea and butterflies alike. "You're kidding."

"Nah, I'm for real. It's all yours."

"Frank, t-this is crazy! I-I can't manage a place like this—"

"The mortgage is fully paid off, I'll cover the property tax and insurance so you ain't gotta worry 'bout shit."

Quivering from the neck down in disbelief, I stared at him blankly. Speechless.

"Listen," he said, his voice softening. "The night we met is still ingrained in my head like it was just yesterday. You confided in me, you told me your fears, doubts, and worries…and you know what? You were right—Los Santos is a crazy fuckin' place. I don't want you to be afraid anymore, a'ight? When the city life gets stressful, when the streets don't feel safe, and the cameras and crowds get overwhelmin'—you deserve to have a safe place you can run away to."

He showered kisses around my lips and jaw before continuing. "A safe spot to get away from everyone and everythin'. Somewhere you can clear your head and rest your eyes when life gets hard. This can be that place for you, baby. Your own space to be alone, free from all the bullshit—"

I pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Wait. Are you telling me the indoor Jacuzzi, walk-in closet, and spa bathroom is _mine_? All mine?"

"Yeah. The whole fuckin' crib is yours, all of it."

My eyesight blurred, the world around me started to spin like a wheel—turning and turning, around and around endlessly. Dazed and dizzy, I slouched over weakly, my heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears. Darkness clouded my vision. I hit the floor like a log.

I blacked out, my consciousness fading into nothingness.

* * *

With a yelp of fright, I shot up from a bed of roses, wide awake and head swimming. There was an ache at the base of my skull, like a tight band was wrapped around my forehead. Mouth full of cotton and heartbeat pounding, my gaze darted about the quiet, empty bedroom. What the heck happened? Where was my fiancé? I tried to call out to him, but my voice lodged in my throat along with my heart.

The lonely, silent stillness rang in my ears like a blaring alarm. Bad things happened whenever I was alone. Were Madrazo's lackeys lurking about? Or bounty hunters? There had to be more dirty FIB agents who had it out for me. What if they followed us out of the city? Something wasn't right—I could feel it!

I fled out of the room and made a dash for the front door. A hulking arm flung out to catch me, pinning me in a rear hug hold. "Let go!" I cried, twisting and squirming about recklessly to free myself.

"Tracey!" Franklin blurted in my ear. "Chill! It's me!"

I stilled at the sound of his voice. "F-Frank?"

He sighed heavily and held me tighter, flesh to flesh, our thighs snuggling. I relaxed, sinking into the protectiveness of his embrace. In one quick, deliberate movement, I was swept off my feet into the cradle of his arms. He carried me to the bed and lowered me onto the mattress, my head settled comfortably on the fluffy pillows.

Franklin sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at me with intense, scrutinizing attention. "Tell me what's wrong," his tone was soft, yet disconcerting.

Unsure of how to answer, I merely frowned. The truth was, I was needy and scared shitless of being alone. But it hurt too much to admit out loud. So I kept quiet instead.

"You fainted earlier, Trace," he said. "And the moment you wake up, you try to run out the damn door half-naked—you ain't got no shoes or drawers on, baby. You look crazy."

I pulled down my dress, my cheeks burned with shame. "Shut up. I was alone, it was quiet, I didn't know where you were…I was scared, okay?"

His amber gaze softened. "There ain't nothin' to be afraid of, sweetie."

"Fraaaank," I whined, my voice sad and high-pitched like a child. "My head hurts. And I'm hungry. Can we go shopping soon? _Please_? I need new clothes, I didn't pack anything. I want cake. My feet ache. Do you have any sweets? Ugh, I feel like I'm going to die. If I don't eat soon, I'm going to die—"

"Ay, what I tell you 'bout the pouty shit? Keep whinin' like that and I'ma kill yo' ass myself."

"Dick." I smacked his shoulder roughly.

He barely flinched. "That's all you got?"

I smacked him again, and he retaliated with a reckless assault of tickles all over my stomach. I squirmed, struggling to stifle my laughter. "No! Frank!" I tried to scramble away on all fours, but he caught me by the hips, pulling me right back in. Play fighting with him was always a blast. He was super mindful of not hurting me, like a gentle giant. However, my head was throbbing like heck, and the tickling was _not_ helping. "Seriously, stop! I have a headache!"

He stilled. "Where? Show me."

I pointed to my forehead. "Here."

His fingertips, delicately insistent, circled slowly over my forehead and down my temples. The aching pressure loosened beneath his massaging touch. "How's that feel?" he asked.

I closed my eyes and sighed with pleasant contentment. "Perfect."

"You got a tension headache, probably 'cause of stress. You need to chill yo' fine ass out before you get a stroke or some shit. Bet you the hot tub can help with that. Why don't you take a dip and relax while I make dinner? We ain't got no sweets, but we can go into town and do some shoppin' tomorrow, a'ight?"

"Dinner? What time is it?"

"Like six o'clock. You been knocked out for hours. I was worried you weren't gon' wake up."

"Jeez…I'm sorry."

"Nah, don't be. You straight now, that's all I care 'bout." He planted a quick kiss on my lips and pulled away to the hot tub. With a twist of a knob, the jets powered on, causing the water to bubble. "I'ma set the timer for fifteen minutes, dinner should be done by then. That cool with you?"

"That's fine. Thanks," I sat up. "Oh, what are you cooking by the way?"

"Chitlins and pig feet with some grits on the side."

I blinked. "What?"

Grinning, he strode for the door. "I'm just makin' pasta, babe. See you in a bit, a'ight? Holla if you need me."

Once Franklin was out of sight, I stripped off my dress and stepped into the tub. The steaming water took some time to adjust to. But the moment I was fully submerged from the neck down with my feet under the pulsing water jets, the smoldering heat morphed into a soothing warmth. I leaned back, my head propped comfortably on the headrest, the tension in my muscles slowly dissolving.

I smiled to myself. Finally, I was living the life of luxury a celebrity of my stature deserved. Now if we could hire a few maids to keep the house spotless, that'd be perfect.

"Frank," I called after him. "What's a 'chitlin'?"

"Some nasty ass shit," he shouted from the kitchen. "You don't wanna know!"

"Yes I do! I'm really curious now!"

"It's pig intestines, girl! My grandma used to make it all the time! Tastes like shit and smells even worse!"

"Sounds gross!"

Franklin appeared with a bottle of cold water in hand, and a white bathrobe dangling over his shoulder. "Ay, you thirsty?"

"Yes! Gimme!"

He handed me the bottle and laid the bathrobe across the bed. "You can change into this when you done, a'ight?"

"Thanks." I took a gulp of my water and set it aside.

He perched himself on the edge of the hot tub. "The spaghetti is cookin', should be ready soon. How's yo' head? Feelin' any better?"

"A little. Can you massage it again?"

"Mhmm. I got you."

A soft moan crept through my lips as his fingers worked my temples in slow, circular motions. His intimate touch, combined with the hot, soothing stimulation of therapy jets, was pure, rapturous ecstasy. I felt like a princess, pampered and spoiled rotten. And it was all because of Franklin. My heart fluttered wildly. He was so good to me.

I slumped deeper into the tub, the tension in my muscles slowly melting away. Through my pleasure induced stupor, I noticed he was watching me, his gaze raked boldly over my exposed body. A shiver of unease stirred deep inside me, the comment he made earlier regarding my weight left a burning imprint on me.

I glanced at him. "Frank, do you think I'm too skinny?"

"Nah," he answered. "You look good."

"Yeah, right. You don't mean that. Be honest. Am I hard to look at? Do I look frail to you? Do you really think I have a calcium deficiency?"

He chuckled. "Is this about what I said in the car? You know I wasn't jokin', right? Truth is, I'm attracted to you 'cause of this right here." He laid a palm on my heart. "Don't matter to me whether you big or small, skinny or fat—I'm feelin' you regardless. Stop doubtin' yourself, Trace. You're beautiful."

I flushed. "Really?"

"For real." He kissed the top of my head. "I'ma go check on the food, a'ight?"

The instant Franklin drew away, a pang of longing struck me. I soaked myself until the jets faltered, pulled on my bathrobe, and left the room. I found him in the kitchen, the glass dining table was already set with a candlelit dinner of pasta and champagne for two. The herbal, cheesy smell of well-seasoned spaghetti hot from the stove wafted through the air, the remarkable aroma was mouthwatering.

Like a proper gentleman, he pulled out a chair for me. Before I sat down like a proper lady, my arms encircled his neck, drawing him toward me. Enjoying his warmth, I buried my face in the crook of his neck and squeezed him tight.

My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the raw warmth of his hard, rippling abs beneath my fingertips. He grinned and shrugged me off lightly. "Damn, what's gotten into you?" he asked. "Why so touchy?"

"You gave me a giant rock for an engagement ring," I said. "Bought me a whole, entire house—of course I'm touchy! What'd you expect?"

"I expect you to eat all this damn food I made you before the shit gets cold." With an affectionate slap and pinch on my ass, he captured my mouth in a searing, demanding kiss. His soft, full lips brushed over mine back and forth, sensually slow, yet passionately intense. The touch of his mouth was a delicious sensation—he tasted strongly of sweet champagne, and irresistible temptation. The blood in my veins went hot and molten as his tongue glided over mine with rough thrusts, every push warmed me to the core.

I succumbed to the masterful domination of his lips, melting in his arms and savoring every moment. Ever so slowly, his hand slipped inside the neckline of my robe. I shivered, my breath caught in my throat when he caressed my nipples, tugging and teasing—

Our impassioned intimacy ended abruptly as Franklin drew back for air. His chest rose and fell heavily, eyes dark with unspoken desire. I panted, my senses drugged and lips burning from the aftermath of our kiss.

"Dinner," he stated, his voice a husky whisper.

I fought the overwhelming need for his closeness, and gingerly lowered myself into my seat. He sat across from me. For a long moment, we stared at one another with open, fierce longing, my heart pounding against my chest. Candlelight glimmered over his face, illuminating his dark, chiseled features with a warm, alluring glow. He was far too beautiful of a man, one look at him and I was dying to erase the distance between us again. It was torture!

Franklin was the first, eventually, to look away. His smoldering gaze averted from me to his plate. I wrenched myself from my bizarre infatuation with his rugged face and tried my best to focus on eating.

"So," I said, staring at my diamond ring as I chomped on a mouthful of saucy spaghetti. "We have to tell Dad about our engagement. Like soon. Very soon."

Franklin munched on his food thoughtfully. "You think he's still mad at me?"

"Well, you did call him a snitch and my mom a whore…"

He grimaced. "Right, you ain't gotta remind me."

"It's okay. He'll get over it eventually, hopefully."

"Yeah, let's hope for my sake. Ain't lookin' forward to gettin' into some bullshit with yo' pops again."

I raised my glass. "Let's toast to a better future—one where my dad doesn't try beat you to death with a baseball bat."

"Or try to choke me the fuck out. Or threaten to shoot me and throw my ass in a ditch."

"He threatened to throw you in a ditch?"

"Yeah." We clinked our glasses together and he continued, "You know, yo' pops has threatened to murder me plenty of times since we been datin'. He's been goin' through some shit though, midlife crisis and all, so it's cool."

I sipped my champagne, my brows creased with worry. "There's nothing 'cool' about my psycho dad threatening to murder you."

"Look, yo' daddy just wants the best for you—"

"I don't care. It's not up to him who I decide to love. I could marry a bum on the corner, or a pornstar—hell, I could marry Madrazo himself and it wouldn't be any of Dad's effing business."

Franklin chuckled. "If yo' love life ain't none of his business, what's the point of us tellin' him 'bout the engagement?"

"It's the right thing to do. And I kinda want an engagement party," I tipped back my glass and drained it. "For the free gifts. But if my dad threatens you again…"

He stood, and refilled both our glasses of the bubbly red liquid. "We both knew the risks of bein' together—that yo' pops was crazy as fuck and wouldn't approve—but we did it anyway. I don't regret it, but it is what it is, you feel me? We made our bed, now we gotta lie in it."

"Well, you did pick out a comfy bed for us. The curtains and the rose pedals are a really nice touch."

He smiled. "Glad you like it."

"At least Uncle T approves of us, I think." I sighed. "It's a miracle my crazy family hasn't scared you off yet."

"Ay, you're worth it, a'ight? First thing in the mornin', we finna go back to Los Santos and tell him 'bout the house, and the ring. He deserves to hear the news face to face. We need his blessing anyway."

"Doubt you'll get it," I muttered.

"Shit, it's worth a fuckin' try," Franklin retorted, his jaw clenched. "Have a lil' faith, Michael ain't that bad. He's dramatic and overprotective, but what dad ain't over his baby girl? He wants the best for you, and one day he finna realize that I want the same shit. It might not be today or tomorrow, but I'm with you for the long run. I don't mind waitin'."

I looked away, a smile pulled at my lips. He stuck by my side through the good times and bad, and it meant the world to me.

Once we finished our food and drinks, unsurprisingly, my selfless fiancé volunteered to do the dishes. With a full stomach, I flopped myself on the bed of rose pedals with a grateful smile. Huddled beneath the covers, lying spread-eagled on my tummy, I was halfway asleep before Franklin's warmth found me.

He hovered over me. "Ay, wake yo' lazy ass up. There's somethin' I wanna show you."

I wrinkled my nose in protest. "No more surprises, Frank. I'm tired, I had a long day."

"So you don't wanna see the secret underground safe room below the house?"

I looked up lazily through half closed lids. "There's a secret underground safe room below the house?"

"Yep. And it's custom built, just for you."

"Will it protect us from the bad guys?"

"Mhmm. It's bulletproof and flameproof. Can't nobody get in without the passcode."

"Can you show it to me tomorrow? Come to bed, I need cuddles."

"Sure, baby." He slipped out of his jeans, shrugged off his shirt, and crawled into bed with me. I clung to him for warmth, slipping my arms around his magnificently muscled back. His arms encircled me in a snug, protective embrace, the intoxicating musk of his body filled my nostrils.

"I love you," I said, nuzzling my nose against his affectionately.

A flush of red colored Franklin's cheeks. He tilted his head, evading my nose kisses. So I tickled his tummy instead. "Stop," he grumbled between a chuckle. "Ain't you tired?"

"I am, but you're here and it's distracting." My long-suppressed desire for him overriding my weariness, I stroked his chest, the feeling of male strength beneath my fingertips was arousing.

His hand seared a path down my waist and stopped short of my hips. He's been surprisingly restrained and attentive in his demeanor lately. With the exception of my panties, he hasn't eagerly ripped off my clothes to fuck me in quite some time, and I was dying to know why.

"Frank?" I asked. "We haven't had sex in forever and you've been holding back all day—why?"

He smirked. "Girl, I've been horny as a motherfucker, but I wanted today to be perfect for you. Didn't wanna jeopardize that by pushin' up on you. Rather not be selfish if I can help it."

"Today has been beyond perfect for me, and I wanna thank you for it."

"Yeah? What you got in mind?"

"You'll see."

I tugged at his boxer briefs and captured his length. He was already semi-hard, and it only took a few slight squeezes to arouse him into a hot, throbbing fullness, my fingers barely circling him. Carefully, I stroked him from base to tip. A ragged murmur of satisfaction escaped him.

"Just like that," he whispered. Lazily, his lips sought mine, caressing my mouth more than kissing it, the pleasure of my touch hindering his movement. With a triumphant smile, I shifted to my knees, hovering over him.

He gazed at me, his brows quirked in curiosity. "What are you doin'—"

My lips glided over the thick crown of his cock. He shivered visibly, fisting the bedsheets. I held his massive length with both hands and kissed the head, sucking lightly. A scent rose from him, so enticing and distinctively male, it stirred a fierce hunger inside me. Gripping him by the root, I took him into my mouth and was rewarded with a surge of warm, sultry pre-cum.

He tasted much better than I expected. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked rhythmically, milking him for more.

"Damn, baby…" There was a slight tremor in his throaty voice, as if touched with emotion. "That feels _good_."

Desperate to please him, to drive him crazy, I stroked him with one hand and bobbed my head as I sucked hungrily. Although his eyes had darkened and dilated with lust, rigid muscles quaking violently—somehow, his touch remained gentle and restrained. He caught a great handful of my hair and tugged at the roots with tender care. His tame, sweet-tempered movements warmed my heart, and hastened my drive to please him even more. He deserved it.

I flicked my tongue over the heavy veins coursing the length of his cock, and he trembled with every slick caress. He swelled, growing thicker and longer, his crown hit the back of my throat and I gagged, involuntarily pulling away.

Concerned, he sat up and gathered me tightly to his chest. "You good?" he asked, smoothing the stray tendrils of hair from my face.

"I'm fine," I muttered, my cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. "It's just, you're a lot to take in, you know?"

"Then don't force it, girl. It's cool. Lemme take care of you."

I fell back as his weight came down on me. He positioned himself comfortably between my thighs and dropped his head to nuzzle my neck. I moaned, the heady sensation of his tongue fluttering against the hollow of my throat made me squirm. Through the heat and pleasure, guilty thoughts plagued the back of my mind. He's been so good to me. I've been soaking up all the benefits of his seemingly unconditional love and giving nothing in return.

He untied the sash of my bathrobe and kissed a sensuous path along my chest to my stomach, down to my core…

"Frank," I said his name softly. "You're spoiling me."

"Ain't that what I'm supposed to do?" He brushed his lips against the aching nub between my legs. I gasped, his gentle kisses sent waves of pleasure through me. "You don't like it?"

"I do but…wh-what about you—"

His tongue flicked over my core, licking and surging with a hungry intensity. He pinned down my wrists to stop me from moving as I was bombarded with sensation after sensation. I was aloof to the helpless whimpers slipping from my throat. My senses were overwhelmed by physical pleasure, the sweet scent of roses surrounding me, and the strong hands holding my body at bay.

A climax was building quick and steadily, his palm kneading my behind, coaxing me closer and closer to his tongue as he thrust it inside me. Driven by the crazed need to orgasm, I rode his working mouth shamelessly. He knew exactly how to send me over the edge, his amazing oral finesse was incredibly addicting. There was adoration in the way he continuously pushed aside his own needs to satisfy me. He was eager and madly devoted to appeasing me, as if my happiness alone was as essential as the oxygen in his lungs and blood pumping through his veins.

His lips stimulated my clit, sucking greedily, the tip of his tongue tantalized the needy, hypersensitive bead. I came with a shrill cry, abandoning myself to the fiery waves of my climax and trembling from the intensity. Franklin's grip on my wrists tightened, his tongue worked my wet entrance ardently until the hot, rippling pleasure subsided.

His heat found me again, my breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest. For a moment, he held me as I struggled to catch my breath. My heart hummed with delight, the sensual warmth of his bare skin against mine was perfect for a girl to melt into.

Franklin exhaled with agitation, his throbbing length nudged my thigh. "Trace," he said, pleading almost, his voice strained with tension. " _I need you_."

"Okay," I replied quietly. Dazed and boneless from my explosive climax, I laid limp beneath him, allowing him to take full control. He rolled over onto his back and dragged me along with him, my thighs straddled his waist. Lying lazily on top of him, I pressed tiny kisses to his neck as he clasped my hips, my core hovering idly over his big, beautiful cock.

He slapped my ass and I cringed in surprise. "Frank!" I yelped, a pained gasp pushed through my clenched teeth.

"Don't move," he demanded, fondling my bruised skin in a delicate gesture of apology.

My heartbeat pounding erratically with anticipation, I bit my lip, struggling to keep still. I wanted—I needed him inside me. It's been so long since we've been connected physically, and there was no man in the world who could fuck me better. I had to have him, and only him.

Without warning, he shoved into me, a tight moan spilled from my throat as my body strained to adjust the tremendous fullness I yearned so desperately for. I kept still the best I could, my nails dug deep into his shoulders. Unable to contain himself, the tenderness he showed in the past was long gone now. He thrashed my drenched heat, his hips rolling and pumping upward tirelessly—igniting a delirious, lust-fueled craze inside me.

He clutched my neck and stared into my half-lidded eyes as he dominated me, his amber gaze hard and possessive. "Tell me that pussy is mine. I need to hear it."

"It's yours," I choked out. " _I'm yours._ "

A low, intensely masculine sound rose from the depths of his chest, erotic and maddeningly sexy. I tightened around him, and he sighed deeply, his breath hot on my lips. Muscles tensing, his handsome face contorted with sexual euphoria. I gripped his arms, squeezing and cherishing the feeling of impressive, hard-worked biceps in the palm of my hand.

Franklin's rhythmic pounds became frantic and uneven as his climax neared. He slowed down, burying himself inside me with long, amazingly deep thrusts, the slap of his heavy balls against my backside burning me alive. "Fuck, baby, I'ma come," he spat in a breathy rush. "Where you want it?"

Still hungry for the taste of him, I said, "My mouth."

Neck corded and teeth grinding audibly, he pulled out. I dipped low, my lips pressed against the blunt tip of his cockhead as he pumped himself vigorously with one hand. Spurred by impassioned lust too long denied, he grabbed the back of my head and fucked my mouth. He battered the back of my throat once, then twice. I fought the urge to gag, lungs burning, my eyes grew wet with tears. On the third thrust, a hot spurt of semen followed behind, so thick I could barely swallow it. He shuddered, lost in pleasure, cursing and groaning my name, the sounds he made so inexplicably satisfying that the pain was all worth it.

I consumed everything he offered, licking him clean. Miraculously, he was still hard and capable for a second round, but I was a little sore and drained. I needed a break. I tumbled beside him, resting my sweaty face against the coolness of my pillow. Despite my exhaustion, it felt pretty good that I was finally able to satisfy him. He was my forever, and I was looking forward to pleasing him every night if I could.

Franklin wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into a loose embrace. I yawned happily, the feeling of his muscled body spooning me was incredibly relaxing.

His fingers lacing with mine, he said, "Damn, I needed that. You straight? I didn't hurt you, right?"

"Are you kidding?" I beamed. "I've never been happier in my entire life."

"I can relate." He kissed my head, his mouth nuzzling my hair. "It's gon' be a long drive back to Los Santos in the mornin'. Get some rest, baby. It's lonely as hell when you fall asleep in the car."

I glanced at the shadowy doorway. "Are you sure we're safe here?"

"I'm positive. And if some bad dudes come through, I got you. I'll protect you."

"Forever and ever?"

"Fo' sho'. Today, tomorrow, and every damn day after that."

"Good, because I don't wanna die before my wedding day. I'm dying to see how hot you look in a tuxedo. And our kids! I can't wait to have your babies. I want at least a dozen of them."

He pecked my cheek with a smile tugging at his lips, and as if he was struggling to contain some wonderful, marvelous secret, he blurted, "Girl, _I love you_. But we ain't havin' a dozen little motherfuckers runnin' around our house. Fuck that. It ain't gon' happen."

"Yes, it will," I argued.

"No, it ain't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes—"

He pinched my butt. "Shut up and go to sleep."

"You can't make me." I turned over and kissed his nose. "Besides, you'll miss me if I fall asleep."

"Shit, you got a point." Franklin rubbed his cheek over mine playfully, his beard forced a bubbly laugh out of me. I rolled on top of him, and hugged him tight, whispering sweet nothings into his ear just to catch a glimpse of his adorable blush.

It's safe to say, neither of us got much sleep that night.

* * *

 **And that's a wrap! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! So its been about a year since I started this story (the first chapter was released on valentines day), and I can't believe I'm still releasing updates on a frequent basis! I had no idea this story would come this far. To those who have been reading this from the beginning, and have been keeping up with updates** — **I can't thank you enough** **for embarking on this long journey with me. I think this fic has been good practice to sharpen up my writing, considering its my dream to be a real novelist one day. Have you seen an improvement in the quality of my work compared to a year ago? Did you enjoy the fluff? Leave a review and lemme know! Thanks again for reading, I love y'all :D**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey guys, I'm back with an update :D**

* * *

We made a stop at Chamberlain Hills cemetery before meeting up with Dad. Tombstones lined the well-tended earth, the warm afternoon sun glistened over the smooth, marble statues of winged angels and tall crosses. Most of the graves were new, thoughtfully decorated with floral tributes and dying candlelight. Black-clad mourners flocked to the headstones, weeping and whispering prayers for the dead.

Franklin and I weaved through the maze of graves until we reached two great slabs of granite. The name "JB Bradshaw" and "Tonya Wiggins" was sharply engraved into the hot stones. They were buried together, side by side, their tombstones stood strong and erect—a proud, bittersweet monument of their love to last centuries to come. Hopefully, one day, when I'm old and wrinkly, and my bones are returned to the soil, I could be buried next to the one I loved too.

"I'm sure they were a great couple," I said.

"Nah, not really," Franklin muttered, his voice quiet, toneless, as he placed a bouquet of red roses between the graves.

I glanced at him. He stared blankly at the headstones of his dearly departed friends, his expression sour and amber eyes glazed with sorrow. My pulse sped up as I fumbled for words of comfort. I had no idea what to say. My fiancé was grieving, and I wanted so badly to empathize with the loss he was feeling, but I never met JB or Tonya. I couldn't reminisce over the time we never spent, or lighten the mood with funny stories about them. Although Franklin wouldn't admit it, they were an important part of his past I never had the joy of knowing. It sucked.

I reached out to him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. He flinched on contact, his muscles grew rigid beneath my touch.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

He glared at me, his eyes cold and direct. "For fuckin' what?" he spat harshly. "My homies got clapped 'cause of me, and talkin' about it ain't gon' raise them motherfuckers from the grave, Trace. It's a waste of fuckin' breath."

Fearing the worst, I disengaged, backpedaling away from him to offer the space he needed. He was easily agitated when upset, his emotions a volatile bomb just waiting to explode at the slightest provocation. I didn't want to get caught in the crossfire, especially in public.

"If you can't communicate with me, then fine." It wasn't easy, but I managed to turn away from him. "I'll wait in the car."

Franklin captured my wrist, pulling me back in with gentle strength. "Ay, don't go," he said. "Stay with me—"

A sinewy stranger brushed past us, his shoulder bumped into Franklin's. The stranger spun around stiffly, stumbling almost. Instead of apologizing, his carbon-black eyes shot a hostile glare at my fiancé. Franklin was no stranger to conflict, and was quick to meet the stranger's gaze, his amber eyes all but snapping in challenge.

They stared one another down for quite some time, sizing each other up silently yet intensely. The stranger had a repugnantly lean face, poked and scarred, with bushy black eyebrows and gold-plated teeth. He was heavily bearded, the knotted muttonchops unkempt and drooping like the waistband of his cargos. Below the shaggy hair protruding from his wife beater was dark skin, dull and unhealthy looking.

Finally, the stranger broke the tension-filled silence. "You Franklin, ain't you?"

"Yeah," Franklin retorted fearlessly. "Why? Who the fuck are you?"

"You stupid or something? Bitch ass lil' niglets like you oughta address me as Chedda, balla OG and proud ambassador of all high-grade narcotics dished out on these streets. You lookin' at a motherfucking legend—better educate yo'self before you get yo' wig pushed back, fool."

Franklin rolled his eyes. "Cool, nice to meet you, nigga. Bye." He took my hand and turned hastily around. Chedda clutched Franklin's shoulder roughly. My fiancé shoved him away, his eyes blazed murderously. "Touch me again, nigga. I fuckin' dare you."

"I want my money, mark," Chedda flared, acid in his voice. "Them dead crackheads you standing over owe me a stack, and somebody gotta pay the fuck up." He glanced at the bouquet between the headstones and sneered. "Instead of wasting all that motherfucking money on them motherfucking flowers, you shoulda paid they bills off, fool."

Franklin snickered harshly. "Nigga, are you serious? Crackheads don't give a shit 'bout no credit, dumb ass motherfucker. Tonya and JB wasn't gon' pay you back regardless, and I sure as hell ain't givin' yo' shady ass shit. I don't even know you, dog."

"Nah, fuck all that. Far as I'm concerned, you the only homie they got, so their debt is yours. Hand over the bread, or get that ass laid out right here and now in this goddamn cemetery. I'll bury yo' ass right next to them bum ass crackheads and make yo' bitch watch. And once you in the ground, I'ma make her pay off the debt instead."

Franklin shook visibly, but not from fear. He stepped up to Chedda, fists tight and muscles quivering like a volcano about to erupt. Heads turned, eyes gawked, and conversations stopped. "I didn't smoke none of yo' motherfuckin' crack," Franklin glowered, his face flushed and mottled with fury. "I don't owe you shit, a'ight? The only thing you finna get from me is a bullet in yo' ass, punk ass motherfucker."

"Do something then, biatch," Chedda urged.

They were eye-to-eye now, psyching each other out with ready fists. The seething rage in Franklin's eyes was terrifying. An intense scowl darkened his features, a vein his forehead throbbed profusely. I've seen that look twice—shortly before he slaughtered the hillbillies with a machete, and after our cabin got burned down by the bounty hunters—which led to every single one of them being brutally murdered in a span of an hour.

It was safe to say, that look was _really bad_ news for Chedda. Before something crazy and irrevocable happened, I grabbed my fiancé and yanked him back.

"Can we please just go?" I asked. "He's not worth it."

"You can run, but you can't hide, pussy," Chedda ranted and raved, his gestures wide and violent. "The hood belongs to me. I'ma find yo' ass and take what's mine. Fuck you, and fuck them lame crackheads too. I'm glad they dead, wish I coulda blazed them myself."

He spat a hunk of spit onto JB's grave. And like a bomb, Franklin exploded, nudging me off him. The two men charged at one another, fists flying. Through teary eyes, I watched the savage, hot-blooded violence commence. Thankfully, the battle ended quick and easy—Franklin's raw-knuckled fist collided with Chedda's throat, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to his knees, clutching his battered neck and struggling desperately for breath.

Gasps and shrill screams of shock echoed through the air. Chedda was pale and wheezing, the monstrous blow to his throat must have severely damaged his windpipe. He shook and quaked violently, like he was having seizure. I cringed. _Jeez, is he going to be alright?_

"Stupid motherfucker," Franklin grumbled under his breath. He turned sharply on a heel, fleeing the scene with his usual wide-legged stride, moderate and purposeful, his chin held high in masculine triumph.

I followed behind him to our car parked on the sun baked roadside outside the cemetery gates, and climbed into the passenger seat. He took the wheel. With a perfunctory glance in the mirror, he pulled out into rush hour traffic.

We cruised along the tree-lined streets silence. Arms crossed over my chest, I stared blankly at the endless river of broken down bungalows and heavily graffitied corner stores. Ambulances zoomed by in the opposite direction, the flashing lights cleaved through the crowded streets at an aggressive speed. With the dire condition Franklin left Chedda in, I wouldn't be surprised if those ambulances were meant for him.

"You didn't have to do that," I sniffed. "I know he was an asshole, but you didn't have to hurt him _that_ bad. What if he's dead?"

Franklin shrugged half-heartedly. "Motherfucker shouldn't start drama he can't finish."

I glared at him. "Why are you so effing violent? You didn't have to go for his throat, you didn't have to fight him at all. That was totally unnecessary."

He snorted in frustration. "Girl, I really ain't in the mood to argue with you right now. Can't we talk 'bout this shit later?"

"Whatever." I shook my head. Apparently, my fiancé could beat someone to the brink of death without batting an eye over it, even in public. Did he even have a conscience? Or has he hurt so many people in the past that fatally wounding another simply didn't faze him anymore?

I frowned. Who am I kidding? The explosive anger, the moodiness, the tendency to play judge, jury, and executioner—none of it was much of a surprise. Franklin was no angel. He was facing a lot of demons, and he's made that blatantly clear since the day he walked into my life.

"Ay," Franklin said. "You wanna get somethin' to snack on before we meet up with yo' pops?"

"No," I mumbled. "I'm not hungry."

"For real? No cake? No ice cream?"

"You're not in the mood to talk, and I'm not in the mood for sweets."

He drew in a deep breath, and exhaled through flared nostrils, the tightness in his muscles loosening. "Trace, we can talk," he spoke slowly, his voice carefully controlled. "But I know it's gon' lead to an argument. When we argue, I say a lot of dumb shit I don't mean. I don't wanna regret anythin'."

"Let's talk about what happened at the cemetery like adults then."

"Yeah? How do we do that without shit gettin' heated?"

"You tell me how you feel, and why you did what you did. Be honest. Be real with me." I laid a tentative hand on his muscled arm. "We're so different, Frank. I just want to understand you. If you could help me see things from your perspective, that'll make things a lot easier."

The car glided into a stop at a red light. Franklin stared wordlessly across at me, his eyes blank and unreadable as stone. He seemed to be strangely preoccupied by something, his attention buried somewhere deep within his own thoughts. What was he thinking?

I chewed worriedly on my lip. "Are you okay?"

He snapped out of his trance and returned his gaze to the road. The light flashed green, and a knot of impatient cars zipped past us. Franklin made a sweeping left into the opposite lane, expertly weaving into an opening within the heavy strain of traffic. "We takin' a detour," he announced, the race car purring as we piloted forward.

I smiled as the sun beat down on my face through the windshield. His spontaneous proposal intrigued me. A small detour wouldn't hurt. Besides, we had all the time in the world to visit my family. Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Dad about our engagement. With all the tension between him and Franklin, I had a feeling he wasn't going to take it well.

I didn't mind more time on the road. There was plenty of sightseeing to do, considering South LS was like a foreign, forgotten wasteland compared to the prosperity of Vinewood. There were miles and miles of poverty-stricken communities all squished together, scanty bungalows and tenements somehow still standing despite years of neglect. But the community seemed proud of their origins and culture regardless of their financial challenges, people greeted one another with wide smiles as they navigated the streets, often hugging their neighbors and carrying on long conversations.

The good vibes were contagious.

We turned a corner onto Strawberry Avenue, and the world became much more familiar. Franklin parked at the curbside of a locally-owned liquor store and cut the engine.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

He climbed out the car and opened the passenger door for me. "You wanna understand me better, right?"

"Um, yeah. Of course I do."

"Then c'mon."

I hauled myself up, the blazing sun washing over us in a shower of golden warmth. Franklin took the lead, navigating along the cracked and uneven sidewalk with me at his heels. The neighborhood was rowdier than I remembered. Rap music blasted from windows, clusters of people lounged on their tiny porches, laughing and shouting boisterously as they conversed with one another. Pit bulls barked viciously from weedy lawns, yanking and pulling at their chain leashes. Hard faces and tattooed bodies all clad in green brushed by me. My limbs were jittery, conscious of the probing eyes I could've swore were watching me from a distance.

Franklin reached out to me. As soon as my fingers laced with his, I felt safe. He pulled me close, his protective grasp soothed my anxiety.

A loud outcry of cheerful voices called out to Franklin from behind. "Franklin! What's good, my dude?"

Franklin spun around and gestured a greeting with a slight nod of his head before we pressed on. We walked and walked until we reached the weathered, slouching concrete of a shotgun house. It was abandoned, the boarded windows and white-washed walls fenced in by dusty planks. What happened to the former owners? There was no "for sale" sign in sight. Who would be crazy enough to buy a fossil like this anyway? Maybe for the land, but it didn't seem like the city cared about the neighborhood enough to bulldoze the lot anytime soon.

Franklin stood before the wood gate, the entrance was locked tight with a padlock. "Ay, you ever hop a fence before?"

"No," I swallowed deep. "I never had to."

"It's easy, girl. Try it."

My eyes darted from left to right. There were potential witnesses all around us! "But Frank, isn't that considered trespassing?"

He grinned. "Ain't nobody finna snitch on us 'round here. C'mon, there's a cool spot I wanna show you." With seemingly effortless finesse, he sprung up and swept his legs over the gate in a flash. I trembled, tendrils of mind-numbing anxiety rooted me in place, robbing me of speech. I couldn't do it. The fence was too tall. What if I fell? What if—

A hand appeared over the fence. "Baby?" Franklin's voice seeped through the wood cracks. "Girl, take my hand. I'll help you." After a long moment of mental preparation, I followed his command. "A'ight, now grab the top of the fence and pull that fine ass up the best you can."

I gripped the peak of the splintery planks and began to climb. With Franklin's aid, I clumsily wobbled over the gate and into his strong arms. "I did it!" I beamed, dusting off my hands.

"Yeah, I knew you could," Franklin smiled. He guided me along the side of the house, his gaze locked on the flat roof overhead. "Ready to do some mo' climbin'?"

The fence was doable, but the roof? It was way too high for me to reach. "There's no way I'm getting up there without a boost."

"I got you." He squatted down, dipped his neck between my thighs, and stood tall, my petite body rode his powerful shoulders. From this high up, the dark paneled roof was easily accessible. I rumpled his thick, curly hair affectionately before scaling it.

The hard streets of Strawberry softened from an aerial view, the warm glow of the sun beamed over the pavement, leaving a glossy radiance in its wake. The intimidating faces below were tiny now. Harmless. And I was untouchable. The old bungalows and graffiti-laced buildings was a concrete mess of geometry, each with its own history and story to be told. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all.

Franklin sat on the ledge, his ankles dangled over the edge of the roof. I took his side, stretching my legs across his lap.

"Before me and Lamar were full time hustlin', we used to cut school every day to chill here," he said, gazing at clouds drifting by. "Never did much but talk a lot of shit, but it was cool with me."

"You cut school just to talk?" I teased.

He smirked. "There was more it to than that. See all these houses? We'd pick one and monitor it, see who goes in and out, figure out them motherfucker's schedules, and hit it when no one was home."

"Wow. How'd that go?"

"Not good. After a few home invasion licks, we realized everybody out here was just as poor as us. Stealin' from niggas and single mothers who barely got scraps to feed their kids didn't feel right, so I stopped. Lamar didn't, but shit like that don't really weigh on him. That fool don't give a fuck who's losin' as long as he's winnin'."

"Robbing people is wrong. You did the right thing."

"Nah," he shook his head. "I mean, there wasn't no guilt, I could sleep without regret eatin' my ass up at night, but then the lights went out 'cause we couldn't afford no electricity. Realized doin' the right thing wasn't worth shit. Ethics wasn't puttin' no food on the table, it wasn't payin' bills, it wasn't gettin' me no-fuckin-where."

I frowned. "I'm guessing applying for a job was out of the question?"

"For a nigga like me with no high school degree?" He snorted. "Yeah, nobody was tryna hire my black ass."

"So what'd you do?"

"Started hustlin' from sunup to sundown, sellin' all kinds of illegal shit from cigarettes to cocaine bricks in canals, alleyways, underpasses—shit, gangbanging was bringin' in bread too. Ballas were never in short supply, and bustin' on them fools was easy. Never saw it comin'."

"You do what you have to do to survive," I said. "I get it. But what about Chedda? You could've walked away, or punched him in the face at least. Instead you went for the kill, you gave him an effing seizure."

"I didn't mean to give that annoyin' ass motherfucker a seizure, a'ight? I wanted to shut him the fuck up, that's all. Everythin' happened so fast. I didn't want you to see none of that petty shit, and if I could take it back, I would, babe. But it is what it is, and…I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a sigh crept past his lips. "Man, today has been shitty."

My stomach hardened. I hated to witness him brooding. I rubbed his back, trying to provide whatever comfort I could. "Is this about JB and Tonya? It's not your fault they're dead, you know? Blame Madrazo, not yourself."

He grew silent, his expression blank as he retreated into his thoughts again.

I stroked his back in firm, circular motions, kneading the stiff muscles through the fabric of his shirt. "Frank? What are you thinking?"

"Nothin'," he mumbled.

"Hey, don't lie to me. Let it out. Talking about it might make you feel better."

"I feel like I should be used to shit like this by now," he said flatly. "It's easier to find a nine out here than a fuckin' parkin' spot. Niggas be gettin' murked on the daily 'cause everybody on the block got a motherfuckin' Glock. And nobody talks 'bout it. We pretend like the shit ain't happenin', another dead nigga in the street ain't interestin' enough to make it to the nine o'clock news, so his memory dies with 'em. We been fightin' for equality for all these years, and the life of a nigga still ain't worth shit. Never will be at this rate."

My heart clenched. "Don't think like that. Things are getting better—"

"Why? 'Cause we ain't slaves no more?" He flashed a humorless smile. "Well shit, bein' gunned down in the ghetto, or spendin' yo' life in prison is better than whips and chains, I guess."

"You made it out of the hood. It's not impossible."

"It ain't probable either, Trace. You don't know how hard that shit is. It still fucks with me, knowin' that if yo' pops didn't give me a chance, I'd be another dead nigga rottin' in the ground, just like JB."

His words left a sour taste in my mouth. I kept quiet, my heart sinking low in my chest.

"Girl, I'm a fuckin' hypocrite," he declared with a vacant stare. "Sittin' here mopin' like I'm a victim of society when I know damn well I'm part of the problem. I've put bullet holes in dudes ten shades blacker than me—watched them motherfuckers bleed out and didn't give two fucks 'bout it. Thought they deserved it 'cause they rep a different color than me, you know, just ignorant ass bullshit cats beef over in the hood."

"That's not you anymore," I said.

"No, but that don't make it any easier to live with, you feel me? Like I said, I've dropped niggas before, and I could do it again if I had to. Even though I know it's wrong. Even though I hate myself for it."

I cupped his cheek. I was getting worried now, more so than usual, at least. I knew he had issues, but how deep did the extent of his self-loathing go? How did he smile, and laugh, and go about his day with so such anger, bitterness, and remorse pent up inside? "Frank, how often do you have thoughts like this?"

He shrugged. "Shit, more often than I'm comfortable with, I guess. You were right 'bout one thing though, we are different. Real different. But now you know where I come from, and the fucked up thoughts that run through my mind on the daily. If you wanna see shit from my perspective, it all starts here, baby." He pointed at the world below.

I shook my head. "You're so more than a product of your environment."

Franklin smiled weakly. "Shit, I doubt that, but I'm glad somebody thinks so." He leaned in, his full lips brushing my neck so softly, I could barely feel it. "You crazy as fuck for wantin' to marry a dude like me."

"More like crazy in love."

"Damn, I like the sound of that." His arm encircled my waist, pulling me close. "You know, all this bullshit coulda been avoided if we just stayed home. Instead of bakin' in the hot ass sun, I coulda been makin' love to you instead—with air-conditionin'."

"That would be amazing right now." I nuzzled his cheek, our noses brushing back and forth in a sweet Eskimo kiss. "How about we go home and break the news to my family some other time?"

He planted a quick peck on my lips. "I'm tempted, baby. But if we do that, the long ass trip we made to get here would be for nothin'."

"Are you seriously looking forward to telling Dad about the engagement? He's gonna freak."

"No doubt," he grimaced. "If we get the hard shit outta the way now, we ain't gotta worry 'bout it later—"

"Franklin?" a voice rang out from below, cool and loud. I glanced downward and spotted Lamar and Chop on the sidewalk, staring up at us. "What yo' Vinewood ass doin' back in the cut, homie? I thought you were too good for the hood, ol' trifling ass nigga!"

"Ay, keep yo' head down, baby," Franklin muttered. "If we pretend we don't hear his ass, maybe he'll bounce—"

"I know you hear me, nigga!" Lamar shouted. "Don't make me come up there and knock yo' ass out! The fuck y'all doing up there anyway? Y'all having a date or somethin'? Gettin' all romantic and shit—that's cute. You tryna get some of that white ass on the roof in broad motherfuckin' daylight, ain't you? I didn't know you were into that freaky exhibitionist shit, Frank. You a nasty motherfucker!"

"Man, would you shut the fuck up?" Franklin snapped, his voice louder. "You talk too fuckin' much!"

"You love me for it, motherfucker! Now bring yo' ass down here, man."

"Just my fuckin' luck," Franklin grumbled under his breath. He stood, and took my hand, helping me to my feet. He made his descent from the roof, landing safely on the ground below. I dropped next. His strong hands caught me by the waist, breaking my fall, and gently set me down. We jumped the fence next, Lamar and Chop met us on the other side.

"'Sup, stranger man," Lamar said, offering Franklin a pound. "Been a while, homie. You good?"

"I'm cool, dog," Franklin replied, patting Chop affectionately. "What 'bout you? Everythin' straight in the cut?"

"Ain't shit change 'round here. Just normal gang shit, green versus purple, you know how it do. But I'm doing swell, homie. Bitches still flocking on my dick, and marks still running."

"Bitches flocking?" Franklin's gaze swept over the area. "Nigga please. Where? Where the goddamn flock? I don't see it. Where the motherfuckin' flock at?"

"Man, I always got bitches around me—Black, White, Asian, Latino, Eskimo and Mongolian bitches—but the moment yo' angry, ugly ass show up, the hoes start running."

"Eskimo and Mongolian bitches?" Franklin snorted. "Damn, you really movin' up in the world."

"You know how I do. I'm always moving." Lamar glanced at me. "What she doin' here, man? The hood ain't no place for a delicate flower, all vulnerable, and innocent, and shit. It'd be real easy for some grimy motherfuckers to creep on her sweet ass."

Clearly annoyed, Franklin let out an exaggerated sigh. "I don't see nobody creepin' on her but you, nigga. How the fuck you find us?"

"Running into y'all wasn't nothin' but a coincidence. I walk Chop 'round this block all the time, paranoid ass motherfucker. This is the last place I expected to find you too—you know, with the Mexicans having a hit out on yo' asses and all."

"Which is why we don't got time to be fuckin' 'round with you, fool. I'll hit you up later—"

Lamar tapped my fiancé's shoulder. "Hold up, my nig'. Before you go, come kick it with yo' boy at the crib. My momma been looking for you, dog."

Franklin froze, his expression softening. "Why? She a'ight?"

"Yeah, she cool, but the fam' misses you. So stop bitching, and bring y'all asses on. Kicking it at the crib with the homies oughta beat the mean suntan y'all finna get chilling out here. You black enough already, Frank."

"Shit, you right 'bout that." Franklin gazed at me, silently awaiting my consent.

I nodded, "Dad can wait. Let's go."

* * *

Lamar's house was a small gray box, indistinguishable from the rest of the bungalows in the neighborhood except for the bonnet roof, black and deeply slanted. Cars were parked up and down the street, and the weedy lawn was teeming with children scrambling about in a competitive game of tag. The moment we stepped onto the property, they ran to meet Franklin and Lamar like a great herd of stampeding animals, a sea of small, bubbly faces quickly surrounding the men. They welcomed the children with open arms, the swarm of restless limbs managed to remain still long enough to steal their fair share of hugs from the duo before speeding off to continue their game.

There was one child that lingered however, a young girl no older than the age of six I assumed, her velvet brown gaze was fixated on Franklin with a dovelike interest. A pink book bag with tearing straps dangled from her tiny shoulders, her school uniform smudged with dirt. Wild, kinky coils framed the girl's face like a puffy cloud. She flashed a toothless smile at my fiancé and flung out her arms for a hug.

Franklin swept the girl up into his embrace. She melted into the warmth of his side, her reaching fingers clasped firmly around his neck, holding onto him tight.

"Hi," she greeted shyly, her blushing cheek pressed against Franklin's shoulder. I smiled. Whoever the kid was, she seemed to be really attached to him.

There was a woman lounging on the porch, her dainty legs crossed neatly over the other as she watched over the kids play from her wicker chair. Although the corner of her full lips were wrinkled with age, her dark skin retained a youthful, timeless glow. She wore a pink silken robe, and head scarf to match, not a single strand of hair to be seen.

The moment her big brown eyes caught sight of us, she shot up, the wide silver hoops dangling from her ears jangling tinnily. "Good Lord," the woman exclaimed, stumbling down the porch steps. "Franklin, is that you, baby?"

"Yeah, that's him, Momma," Lamar said. "Can't mistake this ugly nigga for nobody else."

"At least I ain't dumb as shit," Franklin muttered.

Lamar's mother weaved her way through the playing children toward Franklin. "I haven't seen you in—what? A year? C'mere and give me some love, child." She pulled him into a half hug, her hand quickly gravitated down his back, squeezing his behind.

He squirmed, laughingly shrugging her off. "Ay, watch the hips, Ms. Davis. I'ma need those."

"Aw, look at you," she patted his arm affectionately. "You changed so much, got rid of all that baby weight. You look good, boy." Her gaze shifted to me. "Who this?"

"Oh, this my girl, Tracey."

"Fiancée," I corrected.

"Fiancée?" Lamar narrowed his eyes at me. "Since when?"

I held up my hand, proudly showing off my ring. "We've been happily engaged for like, two days now, going on three."

"Congratulations, baby," Ms. Davis said. "Y'all young folks look good together. Now come on inside, I made fried chicken and hog maws—"

"Damn, Momma," Lamar said. "You can't be tellin' everybody on the block about the hog maws. This ain't no food pantry, we ain't got it like that, girl—"

She glared at Lamar, her tone deepened with authority. "I bought the motherfuckin' hog maws, and I can give them motherfuckers to whoever I damn well please. Now I suggest you shut yo' ass up. Keep running yo' mouth like that in front of our guests and I'ma knock yo' jaw off ya face and shove it up yo' lanky ass, understand?"

The little girl in Franklin's arms snickered. Lamar rose his hands in surrender. "Alright, Momma, chill. You ain't gotta do all that."

"Good." Ms. Davis spun around for the house and gestured us to follow.

Franklin nudged Lamar, a wide grin spread across his face. "You better watch yo' jaw before it end up yo' ass, nigga."

"Fuck you," Lamar muttered, dragging his feet after his mother.

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review, lemme know what you think. Love you guys for reading!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hey guys, I'm back with an update! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you guys haven't forgotten about me! Let's get to reading :)**

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Night had fallen over the heart of the city. Mosquitos and light bugs buzzed about, and clouds weaved cobwebs across the moon. Strawberry was livelier than ever tonight. Ms. Davis was having a cookout on the lawn and her friends and family were arriving in streams. The single lane street was braided with strands of traffic, and children surged in and out of the house in an intense game of tag. Old school soul music filled the brisk, evening air, enticing some into movement while others continued to chatter.

It was getting crowded fast. The mouthwatering aroma of tender, well-seasoned steak seared on the grill seemed the lure the entire neighborhood to the yard. There was a huge throng of interested visitors jamming the sidewalk, waiting for food in a ragged line. But Ms. Davis didn't seem to mind handing out free food to the hungry community. She just kept on grilling, smiling wide with every plate she filled. It was a miracle she hadn't run out of food yet.

Franklin and I sat on the side of the porch steps, giving the wild, playful children and older guests more than enough leg room to navigate freely about the property. With little intent to socialize with the unfamiliar faces, I huddled close to Franklin. If I kept my head down, maybe no one would notice me. Madrazo still wanted us dead and would gladly pay millions to any thug willing to do his dirty work. Even though Franklin seemed to be on good terms with the Families, the shady dudes in green still gave me the creeps. Being surrounded by gang members with handguns strapped to their hips was going to take some getting used to, if it's even possible to get used to something like that. They were less scary looking with steak and grape soda in their grasp, at least.

While Franklin, Lamar and two other dudes were engaged in a heavy debate concerning whether steak tasted better with ketchup or hot sauce, I lifted my fork, and toyed listlessly with the meat. "Frank, when are we going home?"

Franklin devoured a huge mouthful of food before responding. "No time soon. We still gotta meet up with yo' pops, remember?"

I groped my pocket for my phone to check the time. Nine-thirty. "Right. I forgot."

"You a'ight?"

"I'm fine." Seemingly unconvinced, he gazed at me, my muscles tensed beneath the heat of his probing stare. "Seriously, I'm okay," I reassured. I didn't want to dampen his good mood by complaining. It's been a while since he spent time with his childhood friend. They had a lot of catching up to do.

Despite my attempt to ease his concern, Franklin wasn't easily fooled. He was intuitive and receptive by nature. In a heartbeat, I found myself melting into his warm embrace, my unease whisked away in an instant. My stomach tingled with butterflies, keenly aware of his surprisingly shameless display of affection toward me in front of his dangerous, gang-affiliated associates. I closed my eyes, the dark figures around us fading away as Franklin's warmth seeped into my being, alleviating my goosebumps, soothing me in ways words never could.

He kissed my forehead and shifted slightly to continue his conversation with his friends, our bodies still snuggled close in a side hug. He offered me his hand, and I toyed with it in the meantime, relishing the sensation of his calloused fingertips against my soft skin. I loved to touch him, not always in a sexual way—his battle-hardened knuckles, and the map of faded scars adorning his muscled arms intrigued me. There were stories behind them, probably a ton of trauma too, but I was interested all the same.

There was still so much I didn't know about his past!

I beamed at the diamond engagement ring on my finger. Luckily, I had my whole life ahead of me to pick his brain and hopefully, someday, understand the complex inner workings that made him… _him_.

Fast as a speeding bullet, and just as sudden, the little girl with the puffy hair appeared, flinging her tiny self against Franklin. He gave a gruff laugh, setting his food aside to gather the child in his arms. "Hi," she greeted us. Despite her chaotic hair and disheveled clothes, the innocent, toothless smile plastered on her little baby face was adorable.

"Hi," I smiled. "What's your name?"

"Diamond," she muttered shyly.

"Ay," Franklin winced, his face smothered by a messy cloud of kinky coils. "When yo' momma finna do your hair, girl?"

"I dunno," Diamond shrugged. "Mommy always says 'soon', but she never does. So Ms. Davis does it instead."

Lamar scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause she too busy working the corners—"

"Man, shut up," Franklin nudged Lamar roughly. "Why you always talkin' shit?"

"Chill, homie. We all family here. Diamond's my cousin, baby girl knows I'm just playin'."

"Whatever, man." Franklin attempted to run a hand through Diamond's hair, but his fingers got snagged on the knotted roots. Diamond winced. "My bad, baby." He patted her head. "When's the last time you got yo' hair done?"

She merely shrugged.

"She needa perm," Lamar pointed out. "Bein' natural ain't for everybody."

"Nah, them chemicals ain't no good for her," Franklin said. "Yo, LD, go get me some shit for her hair. It needs to be detangled bad, man."

Lamar nodded and pulled away. He returned a short time later with a comb, a spray bottle of water, and moisturizer. Franklin spritzed her dry coils liberally and began to work at taming the girl's wild hair. First, he divided the drenched, puffy cloud into four neat parts, devoting his focus to only one section at a time. Fascinated, I watched the rhythmic strokes of the wide-tooth comb. Once a section was smooth, he'd apply moisturizer and begin to plait cornrows from the scalp down. It was a slow process, each braid wound tight and neat despite their immense size.

He tended to Diamond's hair with surprising finesse and gentle care. Franklin was a man of many talents, but I had no idea styling natural hair was one of them. I propped my head on his shoulder and sighed happily. A skill like that was bound to come in handy when we have little mixed babies of our own.

"Why are you so good at that?" I asked, watching his fingers carefully weave the remainder of Diamond's hair into one final braid.

He smiled. "Good? Nah, I'm a'ight. Could be a lot better."

"Don't be modest. How'd you learn how to do that?"

"Spent a lot of time over here after my Grandma died, you know, to get away from my crazy ass aunt. Ms. Davis always had a comb in her hand, workin' miracles on somebody's hair. Learned how to braid by watchin' her do it so often. She had her own business on the side—the next best thing when a sister couldn't afford no salon "

"My momma a self-made entrepreneur," Lamar added, rolling up a blunt on a paper plate. "She stay hustling, a millionaire in the making. Better recognize, White Girl. Apaches nigga—we destined for greatness."

"Apache?" I gaped at Lamar. "You're Native American?"

"Hell yeah," he replied. "I'm from the green plains of the buffalo and the fat booty eagle bitches. That's why niggas on the street be so shook when I roll up. I got that Apache warrior blood in my veins, I'll scalp a motherfucker."

"Ignore this clown, Trace," Franklin said. "He full of shit."

"I'm getting tired of you discriminating against my genetics, nigga," Lamar said. "We done suffered enough, homie. I ain't gonna sit here and take it from you too."

"I told yo' ass once, and I'ma tell yo' ass again in case you forgot," Franklin uttered. "You—and I mean you, Lamar Davis, not the Apache people as a group. _You_ ain't never suffer enough for the bullshit you put me through, motherfucker."

"Nigga, you in denial. We had some ass good times back in the day."

"If runnin' from the cops and constantly gettin' shot at by Ballas is what you call a good time, then sure, homie. I had a fuckin' blast."

"That's what I thought, nigga. About time you admitted the truth."

After about thirty minutes of undivided attention, Franklin finished Diamond's braids, securing the ends with tiny rubber bands. "Done," he held out his green phone, so she could check out her new hairstyle in the front facing camera. "What you think? You like it?"

Her brows furrowed sharply as she gazed into the camera at herself. A slow smile brightened her angelic face. Such a cutie. "I like braids," she declared.

"It totally works for you," I said.

"Aw, what you do to my cus', FC?" Lamar swept Diamond into his arms, closely securitizing her braids. "I can hardly recognize her without all that damn hair covering her face. It looks good, homie. My momma woulda done better, but it's alright. Could be worse—"

A low, wistful voice called for my fiancé, disrupting Lamar. A woman with a wide-brimmed sunhat and a pair of large shades approached us, her lips puffy and black with damage. She seemed to be on edge, her stride swift and arms crossed tight over her chest.

Franklin's eyes widened, his body grew rigid at the sight of her. "Tanisha?" He gravitated to the woman with haste, eyeing her with startled interest. Tentatively, he reached out for her glasses, but she caught his wrist. "No," she mumbled, shaking her head. "N-no. Franklin, don't—"

He ignored her impassioned protests and slipped the wide-framed shades from the bridge of her nose. I gasped at the sight of her. _Holy crap!_ Her face had been beaten black, blue, and purple, and her eyes were half shut with swelling. There was a nasty, gaping gash on her cheek. Although the blood had dried, it was in dire need of stitches.

"God damn!" Lamar cringed. "You got fucked up, girl! You musta really pissed a motherfucker off to get the black beat off yo' ass like that."

Franklin grimaced. "What happened to yo' face, girl?"

"I had to tell you," she sniffed, "Before everyone saw…It was a mistake. I told Jayden it was a mistake…"

The buzz and chime of various phone alerts filled the air, the sudden harmony was startling. Like robots, all the laughter and conversing around us came to a brief halt as everyone whipped out their handheld devices simultaneously. They stared openly at their screens, perplexed and flabbergasted. Eyes flickered in our direction and gossip was exchanged in whispers.

What was going on? Why were people staring at us? I grabbed my phone and spotted a Bleeter notification. A video popped up, a repost from Franklin's cousin Tavell, captioned "My favorite cousin getting some ass tonight! #RELATIONSHIPGOALS#CGFPOWERCOUPLE". My stomach twisted in knots. Reluctantly, I pressed play. And there it was, Franklin and Tanisha snuggling on the couch together at his aunt's house. She was touching _my_ fiancé, her lips grazing the very same lips I was so sure were reserved for me.

I clasped a hand over my mouth, the realization of his betrayal caused an unsettling heaviness in my chest.

 _How could he?_ _How could I be so stupid?_

I couldn't take it anymore. It was torture! I stopped the video halfway through. It hurt too much, my heart crumbled to jagged shards. It stabbed at me, knowing I was just one girl from his long list of so many others.

My thoughts leaped feverously. Where did the video come from? How old was it? Did it happen during our relationship? Or before? Did Franklin record it? And if so, why the heck would he upload it to Bleeter and put everything we built in jeopardy? I don't understand! None of it made any sense!

I stared at Franklin, eager and desperate, hoping he'd do something—anything to help me understand. But he didn't care about my heartache. He was comforting Tanisha, hugging her. Soothing her. Ignoring me.

"He hit me," she sobbed pathetically in Franklin's arms. _That slut_. "He…He ain't an angry person, h-he nev…never did nothin' like this before…"

The aggravating sight of her disgusting mitts clinging to my fiancé set off a match inside me. _That effing bitch!_ My jaw clenched, my knuckles quivered. _Franklin is my man. Mine!_ "Bitch!" I lashed out, clutching a fistful of her hair. She emitted a shrill cry, squirming helplessly. Franklin lunged between us. I didn't let go. I snatched off her wig, her ugly rodent of a lace-front dangled from my grasp. It was gross. It was wild. It belonged in an effing zoo. I'm sure it would make a great rug.

Gasps and laughter rang out into the night air. She shuddered, hugging herself, visible tremors coursed through her body. A rush of adrenaline pumped through me. Humiliating her felt great. That'd teach her to stay away from my man.

"Good Lord!" Ms. Davis scrambled over to us. "What in the name of Jesus is going on? Fighting on my property? You kids ain't got no damn respect!"

"She's a homewrecker!" I stabbed a finger at Tanisha. "She's trying to steal my fiancé!"

"Steal him?" Ms. Davis shook her head. "Honey, it takes two to tango. And Franklin, baby, you should know better. What's done in the dark will always come to the light."

"Can't hide no secrets from the Lord," an elderly man added.

"Amen," Ms. Davis replied. "You can hide from man, but you damn sure can't hide from God."

"Praise Jesus," guests shouted in unison.

Franklin sighed heavily. "Ay, no offense, but can y'all old folks save the lecture for later? Tanisha needs a doctor—"

"No, no," Tanisha shook her bald head several times in disapproval. "I'm good, I-I'm good—"

"You young'uns need Jesus in yo' lives," Ms Davis continued. "Everything is about sex, sex, sex. Close ya legs! Keep yo' dick in yo' pants! Read a damn book, educate ya ignorant ass. The truth will set a negro free, honey. Whether you a lowdown, dirty ass nigga, or an honest, beautiful, natural-haired, God-fearing Christian woman like myself—all negros are equal in the eyes of God."

"I-I have to go," Tanisha whimpered miserably, her voice barely a whisper. "I have to…I…I have to go home."

Franklin seized her wrist before she could turn away. "Nah, T. Fuck that, it ain't safe—"

" _I deserve this_!" she cried, tearing away from him.

I rolled my eyes. Talk about dramatic. "Don't forget your wig, whore!" I tossed it at her and stormed away in the opposite direction.

Franklin had a choice to make. If he goes after that bitch instead of me— _his future wife_ , he could kiss our engagement goodbye.

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 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I had a bad case of writers block, but I think I got my mojo back (hopefully). I really wanna see this fanfic through to the end, don't give up on me! Thank you for reading, I love you guys. Please, leave a review, lemme know what you think! :D**


	27. Chapter 27

**Guys, I'm back with an update! This chapter is longer than usual, (and it didn't take a month between updates lol). Enjoy!**

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"Tracey!" Franklin threaded his way through the crowd after me. I made it out of the yard and onto the sidewalk before Franklin halted my escape with a firm grip on my arm. Lips drawn back in a silent snarl, I whirled around and gave him a stinging slap across the face. It was as loud as a clap, the impact left behind a red welt on his cheek, and small cut where my engagement ring had caught him.

He winced from the pain but did not utter a sound.

"How could you?" I shrilled with blurring vision, heat churned inside me as I struggled to fight off the tears. "I trusted you!" Quietly, with no attempt to defend himself, he averted his gaze to the ground. His unnatural silence only infuriated me more. " _Seriously_ , Frank? You have nothing to say?"

His normally proud, distinguished face had grown dark and brooding, a somber grimace flitted across his features. "I'm sorry," he mumbled sourly.

I rose my chin, and stared up at him disdainfully, my gaze hard and direct. Eagerly, I waited for him to say something to alleviate the heartache, to help me understand why he's been lying and taking our love for granted. I waited and waited. I deserved an answer! But Franklin remained silent, as if the pathetic excuse of an apology he offered me earlier was good enough.

It wasn't.

"I can't effing believe you," I turned my back on him. "I hate you! You're such an asshole."

He captured my wrist. "Baby—"

I snatched my wrist from him violently. "Don't follow me, cheating scumbag."

"Where you going, girl?" he called after me. "Come back! At least lemme take you home—"

"Go to hell!" I snapped.

Fists clenched, I strode away, my sandals slapping against the concrete with every step. I rather spend money on a cab than endure another moment in his dumb car, looking at his stupid, sleazy face. _Lying turd!_ I didn't need him. And I didn't belong here. It was time to go home. I'd choose my annoying, crazy dysfunctional family over being abused and mistreated like this any day. Once I made it to the curb, I rooted through my pockets for cash to hail a cab. All I had was a few quarters, and a handful of dust bunnies.

 _Ugh_. Just my luck. What now? I had no idea how to get home from here and wandering aimlessly about in a shady neighborhood like this was a terrible idea. I glanced apprehensively over my shoulder. Franklin hadn't moved a muscle since I left him. His gaze followed me as he stood rigid as stone in the center of the sidewalk, his great, imposing physique clogged the path, forcing each passerby to brush uncomfortably past him.

Reluctantly, I returned to him and held out my hand. "Give me your money."

His brows furrowed, confused. "What?"

" _Give me your money_ ," I repeated bluntly, acid in my voice.

Obediently, he reached into his pocket, flipped open his wallet, and handed me a fifty-dollar bill.

"More," I demanded. "I have _needs_ , Franklin. My hair and nails need doing and someone has to pay for it. It's the least you can do, considering you had sex with a filthy skank behind my back—"

"Trace, I didn't—"

I ignored his lies and ranted on, "And got the video leaked online. You're a pornstar now, Frank. Congratulations, way to make your dead parents proud. Just kidding, they're definitely turning over in their graves—you're an effing pig and I feel sorry for you."

I grabbed a wad of cash from his wallet and spit on the ground at his feet. "You're a terrible person!" I spat. "Just stay away from me! You're smothering me, I can't live like this. _Ugh!_ " I beat my fist against his chest. "Asshole! Thanks for the money, I hope you choke on a chicken bone and die horribly—"

His large hands cupped my cheeks and held it. "Don't leave me," he pleaded, softly, desperately, pressing sweet kisses on my face. My heart raced, the tantalizing persuasion of his lips drew me closer and closer into his warm embrace. "Don't go, a'ight? I…" He sighed heavily, his breath fanned my face as he struggled fiercely for words. "I need you, Trace. Me and you—we been through so much shit. We can make it through this too, girl."

He kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me.

" _Stay with me, babe_."

And he kissed me again.

 _"I love you."_

Franklin was dangerously seductive, his dark, beautifully rugged appeal had a magnetic _pull_ that never failed to lure me in, even against my will and better judgement. And unfortunately for me, despite the heartache and betrayal, I was very much in love with him. All I wanted in this terrible, awful world was him. My fiancé. My love. My everything. Fighting and denying it only hurt more in the end.

Lost in the warmth and safety of his strong arms, I relaxed, sinking into his protective embrace. However, the moment I closed my eyes, images of Franklin and Tanisha flashed through my mind, clear as a picture, in agonizing detail. The video haunted me, the thought of the kiss they shared escalating to something more added to the heavy weight of misery on my heart. It was a vicious, harrowing pain, like a knife slicing at my soul every time I closed my eyes, and the ache was impossible to ignore.

Did he kiss her the same way he kissed me? Did he make love to her with the same passion and tenderness? Did he actually love me? Or was it all just an act—some sick game of a wealthy, devilishly handsome womanizer?

A dry sob burned my throat. I couldn't be with him. Not like this.

My flesh crawled beneath his touch. I jerked away from him. I had to go.

"I…I n-need my space," I choked out, turning away without waiting for a reply. I couldn't stand to be anywhere near him. He was repulsive.

* * *

A dark smudge of clouds drifted overhead as I shuffled along the shadowy driveway to my house. Grim-faced and annoyed, I barged through the front door and shambled up the steps without a word. It's been a terrible night, probably the worst in my entire life, and I wasn't in the mood to be cordial with my stupid brother or my parents. My life was over. I wanted to disappear. Unfortunately, disappearing into thin air was out of the question, so locking myself in my room until I wither away into peaceful oblivion would have to do. I doubt anyone would care anyway. I was better off dead.

Regrettably, before I managed to reach my room, I bumped into Dad as he was coming out of the bathroom. He smiled warmly, seemingly in a good mood. Shocking. "Welcome home, honey—"

I brushed past him into my room and shut the door in his stupid face. **_Slam!_** Good-bye annoying Dad, hello peace and quiet.

I sank warily into my bed, hoping to sleep away the persistent pain in my chest. It was like a shard through the heart, and no amount of medical attention could get it out. However, there was severe tension in my muscles, nerves danced in my stomach, my mind ran a thousand miles a minute, my brain a wild whirl of unhinged thoughts struggling to piece together the chaos in my life.

 _Franklin_ —the nerve of him! What did Tanisha have that I didn't? Why wasn't I good enough? I wanted him so badly, and it irked me, down to the very fibers of my being that I caught him red-handed, lying and cheating despite everything we've been through. The skeleton in the closet was out and _everyone_ knew about it. And I was the butt of the joke, the delusional girl he's been stringing along while he lived his double life.

Being publicly humiliated wasn't the worst part. It was the false promises he made. It was the reality I created for us. I dreamed of a comfy home, a loving husband and children. And now…there was nothing but dust and wasted potential. I had no idea it was possible to love someone so deeply, so completely, in such a short time. But it was over now. Our future together was gone. Everything gone to waste. What was going to happen now? Where do I go from here? I was lost, my entire life unraveling around me, and holding it all together seemed impossible.

God…I couldn't get that video out of my head. My mind dwelled on the kiss. It was like an awful movie on repeat that I couldn't turn off no matter how hard I tried. And as if my terrible life couldn't get any worse, Madrazo was still out there. I had enemies. My life was in danger, and the man who swore to protect me was God knows where…

I jerked upright from bed as a sudden realization dawned on me. The video Franklin's cousin posted on Bleeter was a repost from someone else. Who was the first to post it? Was the video even authentic? Could it have been edited? It was a far-fetched hunch, but what if Franklin and I were being set up? There was no shortage of doctored videos of me online, being a celebrity wasn't all rainbows and sunshine after all. I had plenty of haters and jealous losers who would do anything to destroy my reputation and ruin my life.

I had to get my hands on the _real_ video. No more moping around, wallowing in my own sorrow. It was time to put on my metaphorical detective hat. _Hmm._ I was far from tech-savvy, but there was still hope. I had a dedicated fan base of stalkers who would literally lay down their lives for me in a heartbeat. All I had to do was reach out and ask.

The following day, I set my master plan in motion with a high-spirited Lifeinvader update. "I am SO in need of a tan. It's a beautiful day, planning to lounge by the shore of Vespucci Beach and soak in some much needed Vitamin D…half-naked ;) #sexybeachbod". Next, I took a trip to the salon, and made a quick visit to Ponsonbys for an outfit fitting for the occasion—an American flag bikini with cute bow tie straps on the shoulders.

The moment I stepped out of the store onto Vinewood Boulevard, a black sedan pulled up to the curve in front of me, stopping my advance. A man climbed out. He had a casually refined look, his fine tailored dress shirt loose around the collar and white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His cognac shoes, cap-toed and sleek, clicked with every step. One hand buried deep within the pockets of his gray pinstripe slacks, he lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and glanced at me.

That refined, square-shaped face, clean-cut and normally passionless, was unremarkable, except for the eyes. They were so familiar—the same tense, watchful, gleaming eyes of smoky-blue, filled with a strikingly golden light.

A tingle spread throughout my body, a wide smile pulled at my lips. It was him! Agent Smith! He was alive! He was okay!

I sped into his arms and hugged him tighter than ever. He tensed beneath my strong clutch and let out a tight groan of pain between clenched teeth.

I jerked back. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, casually dusting himself off as if I had cooties. "Be gentle, love. Still healing from a fatal gunshot wound, remember?"

"Right." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "What are you doing here? How'd you find me?"

"Your father called. He's concerned. A young lady of such caliber and prestige mustn't wander the streets alone—what a tragedy it would be if harm were to befall her. I am here to serve, and protect your body, Ms. DeSanta. Where you go, I go." He bowed his head politely. "If you'll have me, of course."

I bobbed a small curtsy and responded with the best British accent I could muster, "Why yes, your company would be most delightful. I am in dire need of transport to Vespucci Beach. What say you, humble servant and fierce protector of my body?"

"It would be my honor to be your chauffeur, madam. Please, allow me." He opened the car door for me. "After you, Your Highness."

"Thank you." I slipped inside, and he closed the door behind me. As I fastened my seatbelt, he took the wheel and peeled off onto the road. "So," I said. "How are you doing?"

"Good. Much better than the last time we've seen one another. I must confess, I had my suspicions of Agent Blossom. She was scandalous, shamelessly so, her treacherous actions have made a complete mockery of the Bureau and everything we stand for. The harrowing tenacity of a desperate mother is a force to be reckoned with, it seems. I underestimated her. And for that, I apologize. My negligence almost cost us everything."

"It's whatever. You literally took a bullet for me, so like, stop apologizing, okay? I'm the one who should be thanking _you_."

"Must I remind you that I am paid to take bullets for you?"

"I get that I'm a super important celebrity and my life is more important than your boring, basic existence, but that doesn't mean you have to die for me, you know? I can't live with that kind of guilt."

"I see. Let's say, theoretically, there's a ruffian holding you at gunpoint. Shall I stand idly by and allow you to be shot?"

"No, no, you should definitely dive in front of the gun and take a bullet for me—several bullets if that's what it takes to keep me safe. But you're not allowed to die, got it?"

"I'd hate to disappoint you, Ms. DeSanta, but taking several bullets for you may bloody well kill me. In a perfect world, I'd disarm the ruffian instead. That way, we are both unharmed, and we live to tell the tale."

"Okay, no more talking about bad guys with guns. I've seen enough of those to last me a lifetime."

"Ah, at last, something we can agree on. Where is your better half, if you don't mind me asking? Your father claims you two are inseparable."

I rolled my eyes. "How often do you and my dad talk? Are you guys best friends or something?"

"We tolerate one another, I suppose," he shrugged somewhat fatalistically. "As you already know, my narrow-minded superiors at the Bureau have assigned me to be at your family's beck and call. Apparently, it is the best use of my talent, so here I am. Your father is more like a disgruntled taskmaster, and I, his laborer. He calls, barks instructions, and I carry out his bidding immediately. Anywho, Father Dearest tends to go on heated rants when perturbed, particularly about you. It appears the stress of parenthood has taken a toll on him."

"My dad has always been a controlling nutjob. Like seriously, he is so overdramatic, you have no idea. I'm living my best life right now, and he needs to stay out of my business. I'm an effing adult, he can't treat me like a kid anymore."

"Of course." We reached a stoplight, and for a moment, he watched me intently through the rearview mirror. "Lovely bikini—absolutely ravishing, the red, white, and blue really brings out your…complexion. You don't need a tan, you are positively glowing already. Natural beauty."

"Thank you," I beamed. "My skin care routine is pretty extensive. I'm not gonna go into details because that'll take all day, but antioxidants like green tea extract and vitamin E is so good for your skin. It evens out your skin tone and—wait, how'd you know I was going for a tan?"

"What else does one do at the beach?"

"I could be going shopping, there's plenty of stores on the boardwalk. Or swimming. Is dad stalking me on Lifeinvader again?"

"Well, yes. He sent me to find you, did he not? Kudos to you for finally putting two and two together. Now, what's the _real_ reason we're off to Vespucci? Why isn't your beloved accompanying you?"

I sighed heavily. _Ugh_. Why does he have to keep bringing up Franklin? Life was hard enough without him here. He was my rock, my best friend, my _everything._ I had gotten so used to his constant presence at my side that being alone simply didn't feel natural anymore. Nothing felt right. My heart ached whenever I'd think about his cute, boyish smile. It's been less than twenty-four hours since I've heard his light, adorable laugh, or enjoyed the strong, calloused sensation of his touch—it was killing me. The loneliness was a disease feasting on me from the inside out, and the only remedy was the man I love.

Sure, I had my family. I had friends. I had the admiration of my fans. Agent Smith was here too, I was safe with him. But I still felt alone despite the loving support system I had, even in a city filled with so many different faces and new people to meet.

Every time I took a glimpse at my phone, there were missed calls from him. My fingers itched with the temptation to answer whenever it vibrated. He missed me as much as I missed him.

Too bad he was a lying, cheating douche! I hated him so much. He reminded me of Dad, the way he used to seduce Mom with sweet lies before boning cheap hookers behind her back—it was pathetic. She was a puppet, blinded by money, being pulled at the strings by a rich tyrant in a loveless marriage. Things were much better between them now, but I didn't forget how broken our home used to be. I refuse to repeat the mistakes my mother made.

My future with Franklin depended solely on that video, uncut and authentic.

"Ms. DeSanta," Agent Smith's methodical voice yanked me from my thoughts. "You are far too quiet for comfort. Are you well?"

Tears rose unbidden behind my eyelids. "I'm fine," I muttered, quickly blinking them away.

His bland, stony expression softened with concern. "What's troubling you, dear? Please, indulge me, you have my ear," he urged. "I know I am merely a bodyguard, that I am here solely at your father's will, but I assure you—"

"Stop!" I beat my fists against the back of his leather seat. "Quit it with the questions. Do your frickin' job and drive."

Almost instantly, his features were bland once more. "Of course."

An awkward silence filled the air. My cheeks burned. _Nice one, Tracey. No wonder everyone hates you._ "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to…you know…"

"You are not at fault, Ms. DeSanta—"

"Call me Tracey for now on, okay? You don't have to be so formal all the time. We're like, friends, aren't we?

Leaving one hand on the wheel, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "In light of the recent tribulations we faced at the hands of Madrazo, I suppose the bond we've formed is only natural. Please, accept my apology. Prying into a lady's private affairs is most ungentlemanly. I was out of line, but rest assured, my intentions are pure."

Or he was just being nosey so he could relay information to my psycho father. Not gonna happen. "By the way," I changed the subject, "What's up with the posh English accent? You sound like you're from the 1900s. Are you secretly part of the royal family? Did you escape to America to flee your overbearing, ancient fossil of a Queen? Or was it the fame too much to handle?"

He quirked a brow. "Wouldn't you like to know? I believe we are both entitled to our secrets."

I smiled. "Well played, Mr. Secret Agent Man."

Due to crazy traffic and annoying road construction, afternoon had fallen over Los Santos by the time we made it to the beach. The baking sun drowned the city in a shower of golden warmth. There was a horde of sun-kissed faces jamming the boardwalk, chatting excitedly amongst one another as they held "I LOVE TRACEY" signs high above their heads. Eagerly, they awaited my arrival.

"Leave the car running," I instructed Agent Smith before climbing out into the sunlight.

Hysterical shouting rent the hot air, wild and berserk, giddy with excitement like starved barbarians who had set their sights on a slab of meat. Like desperate, disgusting savages, they squealed and charged at me in a frenzy. Agent Smith swept in front of me like a human shield. With extended arms, he held the rabid swarm back at a distance. _Thank god._

I stood on the tip of my toes and peered over his wide shoulders. Buried within the sea of restless bodies was an uncomfortably familiar face, flustered and marred with bruises. He looked like he had recently fallen off a cliff and miraculously survived, the white nose and neck cast, as well as the arm sling stood out greatly from the crowd. It was my most dedicated stalker in the flesh, the scrawny loser who tried to kidnap me on Valentine's Day. One look at his eerily pale features and my mind was a jumbled mess of troubling memories. If it wasn't for Franklin, who knows what the creep would have done to me.

His high-water pants and suspenders looked geeky enough, maybe he was better with computers than he was at kidnapping. If so, I could use him. Keeping him around for a few hours at most wouldn't hurt—he wasn't gonna pull anything with Agent Smith nearby. Last time he did, he almost got his arm snapped in two.

"You," I pointed at the blonde boy. "Come here."

He tensed, his purple and black eyes widening. "Who? Me?"

"Yes, you." With a wave of my finger, I gestured him to come closer. Eager and obedient, he pushed through the cheering horde at my call, his wounded stride stiff and limping. "Are you good with tech stuff?" I asked. "I need help tracking down a video online."

"I'm your guy, I'll do anything," he blurted, making a brave attempt to smile despite his severe injuries. "I won't let you down, I love you—"

"Good. Do you have a name?"

"Josh! My-my name is Josh."

I gave him a once-over. Those high-water pants were such a fashion violation, I wanted to barf. "For now on, your name is Urkel. Now get in the car." I turned for the sedan. "Smith, I got what I came for. Let's go!"

I slipped into the front seat beside Agent Smith, and my stalker scrambled into back. "Drive," I demanded my loyal chauffeur.

"Oh-oh my god," Urkel spoke in a breathy rush, trembling with excitement as we pulled off from the beach. "Tracey! Hi! Wow, you are so beautiful, I love you, you are so hot I could grill a burger on your tits—"

"Stop talking," I grumbled.

"You got my message, right?" he droned on. "About the bathwater challenge? The video is gonna be sick! I'm so ready to drink your dirt and upload it to social media, the internet is literally going to implode itself!"

My flesh crawled. "Seriously, are you _that_ desperate?"

"You ought to be flattered, love," Agent Smith quipped. "What grander gesture than to willingly drink the bathwater of your heart's desire? I vaguely remember a Carcer city physician who argued the consumption of dead skin cells provided a natural boost to one's immune system."

"You guys are gross." I shifted in my seat to face Urkel. "Listen, you creepy little dweeb. You owe me a favor for the crap you pulled at my house. Deadly use of a weapon, attempted kidnapping, stalking—you're lucky I don't turn you in to the cops and let you rot in prison!"

"Sheesh!" Urkel shook his head, the masses of blonde curls framing his face swooshed from side to side. "You still aren't over that? Take a chill pill, bae—"

"I'm not your 'bae', dickweed. Call me that again, and I'll have my bodyguard break your other arm and beat you to death with it."

"Broken bones and dismemberment can make for a bloody good time," Agent Smith added. "The unbearable pain does wonders for humbling the spirit. And in event of your very probable death, making bodies disappear is both a specialty and guilty pleasure of mine."

His casual tone, deadpan and robotically calm, made it difficult to tell whether he was just playing along, or actually serious. It scared the crap out of Urkel though. He hugged his arm close, his teeth chattering loudly. "You're crazy! I'll call my lawyer!"

"He'll break your lawyer's arm too!" I blurted. "Like, he'll literally snap it in two and feed your limbs to the sharks. You and your cheap, crappy lawyer will be sad little cripples together, don't effing test me."

My stalker squirmed, great beads of sweat oozed from his shiny forehead. "Okay! I get it! Can you guys please stop threatening me now and tell me what you want?"

"You're gonna do what I say, when I say it," I said. "No questions asked, and no talking unless I give you permission. Your stupid mouth stays shut at all times until told otherwise, understand?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he replied.

Like a mob boss on a power trip, I glanced at Agent Smith and with an inconspicuous tilt of my chin, I pointed at Urkel. Immediately, he made a sharp turn onto the side of the road and stomped on the break.

"Why are we stopping?" Urkel asked. "What's going on—"

Agent Smith struck him with the flat of his hand. **_Whack!_** His head jerked back from the impact, the quick blow drew no blood, yet it was hard enough to leave a red welt behind on his forehead. " _Ow!_ " Urkel buckled over in pain. "What the fuck! Why'd you hit me?"

"I explicably said to keep your stupid mouth shut unless told otherwise," I replied. "Seriously, stop speaking. Oh, and give me your phone. I wanna show you what I need help with."

He grumbled something under his breath as he rooted through his pockets. Once he dropped the device in my hand, Agent Smith stepped on the gas, and we continued to our destination. I pulled up the gross video of Frankin and Tanisha kissing and handed the phone back to him. Mouth slack with startled interest, he watched the footage.

His hand shot up into the air. "Permission to speak?"

"Granted," I said.

"Isn't this guy your boyfriend?"

I nodded stiffly.

"But he's kissing another chick."

"I know."

"So…does that mean you're single?"

"Yes, no—look, that's none of your business. Just finish watching the video."

"I'm already done," Urkel stated. "No way this is the full video. It's short, and the ending was…abrupt. Some parts were edited too, like some segments have been cut out and transitions were added. Very subtle transitions, but you know, it's there."

My breath caught in my throat. I was totally right! I knew there was something fishy about that video! "Okay, so what now? How do we find the original?"

"We need the camera that recorded it. That's the only way to guarantee it's the real thing—"

"Smith!" I called for his attention. "We need to go to my fiancé's aunt's house, and step on it, please."

"Fiancé?" Agent Smith and Urkel blurted out in unison.

* * *

I wasn't sure if there was anything left to find at Denise's house after she moved out, but it was worth a try. Fortunately, the bungalow was no longer a deserted, empty shell of wasted potential and ruin. The home seemed to be under new management, the sweet, smoky scent of fried chicken and waffles wafted from the open windows. Who was living here now? Only one way to find out.

Engine still purring, we stared at the property from across the street, within the safety of our parked car. "Tracey," Agent Smith said. "Are you sure about this? Must I accompany you?"

"Nah, me and Urkel can handle this," I said. "I'm good with people, and I know this neighborhood like, the back of my hand. Everyone loves me. I got this. I'll be in and out."

"I vouch we take the bodyguard," Urkel muttered. "This is the hood, for crying out loud. We don't belong here. People get murdered here all the time. I don't wanna be a statistic. Do you?"

"They won't open the door for us if they see Smith," I replied. "They're going to assume he's a cop. He looks like the average, stereotypical federal agent you see in movies, no offense."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Urkel said. "All he's missing are the tacky shades."

"Tacky?" Agent Smith scoffed. "I believe the word you are looking for is 'practical'. Sunglasses provide vital protection against dangerous ultraviolet rays. Everyone should keep a pair at their disposal."

"Yeah, except you wear them at the club too," Urkel said. "Which is probably the most tacky thing on the face of the planet."

"Oh, that's rubbish. I would never."

"You were wearing them when you broke my fucking arm, dude. I would know, 'cause I remember that night pretty clearly. It actually haunts me at night. My therapist diagnosed me with PTSD after my last suicide attempt and now I have to attend group therapy—"

I cleared my throat. "Are we doing this or not?"

"Uh, what's the plan again?" Urkel asked.

"We're going to convince them that we work for a pest control company," I said. "There's a bed bug infestation in the neighborhood and we're here to offer them a free inspection."

Agent Smith glanced at me. "Are you mad? No one in their right mind is going to fall for such a ruse. Your plan is doomed to fail."

"Hey, have a little faith, okay? It's a great plan, people totally fall for crap like that all the time."

"If the scammers look the part, perhaps. Do you honestly believe anyone will take you serious in that bikini?"

"Of course, they will. I'm smoking hot. I bet whoever answers the door will get down on their knees and beg me to come inside."

"Right?" Urkel nodded. "One look at you and they'll kiss the ground you walk on. You're so amazing, Tracey."

"I know. At least someone here believes in me." I pat Agent Smith's shoulder. "Now you stay here and keep the AC running while I strut my stuff and get the camera."

"Very well," Agent Smith murmured. "I'll be here, eagerly awaiting your return—emptyhanded."

Wow. Lack of faith much? "Whatever," I sneered, stepping out of the car. Smith was such a pessimist. I was born into a family of con-artists. Lying, scheming, and screwing people over for personal gain ran in my blood. It was the only thing my parents were good at. Over the years, I happened to learn a trick or two from them. Talking my way into someone's home shouldn't be too difficult, assuming they're as dumb as everyone else in this city.

With Urkel at my heels, I knocked on the door.

Hopefully the residents are friendly.

A moment later, the door flung open. A shirtless man in baggy jeans with a face full of gangly tattoos appeared. He had an afro pick poking out of hair, a cup of lean in hand, and a blunt dangling from the corner of his lips. His eyes darted from me to Urkel. He reached into the waistband of his jeans. Without warning, an Uzi emerged, aimed straight at Urkel.

I stared wide-eyed at the deadly machine pistol in the palm of the stranger's hand. _Holy crap._ My heartbeat throbbed in my ears, hair prickled the back of my neck, gooseflesh broke out all over my skin, the suddenness of it all left me in a petrified daze, my knees locked in place.

Urkel shot his hands into the air in surrender, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Dude! Chill—"

" _Oh my god!_ " I shrilled, my voice shook violently. "Are you crazy? _Put the gun down!_ "

Face darkening, the man exploded, "Who the fuck are y'all? Where y'all come from? This is my crib now, motherfuckers!"

"Okay, o-okay!" I cried with my palms raised. "We'll leave! Just don't shoot!" I hazard a glance behind me at the car. The driver door was wide open, and Agent Smith was nowhere to be found. Where the hell did he go?

"Nah, y'all ain't going nowhere." The stranger inched closer, his firearm shifting from me to Urkel. "Y'all with the feds, playa? Undercover cops or some shit?"

The nerd quaked, shoulders slumped, tears brimmed his eyelids. "No! No! I'm not a cop, I-I h-hate cops! Fuck the police, man!" He rose a trembling fist. "I love black people! We're in this together. We gotta fight the powers that be—"

"Shut yo' culture vulture ass up," the man barked. "We ain't friends, mark. I'ma ask you one more time, motherfucker. What the fuck you doing at my crib?"

Urkel's gaze darted to me. "Tracey! For fuck's sake, _do something_!"

The man's eyes were bloodshot and dilated, his movements short and jittery from excessive drug use. Reasoning with him was pointless! But I had to try. Although Urkel was a disgusting creep and stalker, I didn't want him to die. It was my fault he was here. I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat and trilled, "Please, pl-please, put the gun down. My dad, Michael DeSanta, he's filthy rich. Look him up, he-he's a famous director. He'll give you money if you let us go. I swear."

"Money?" he lowered the gun slightly. "How much?"

"Um…" I hesitated, my teeth chewed at my bottom lip. _Think fast, Tracey!_ "My dad has so much money, you can buy like, multiple cribs. Mansions on top of mansions…"

"And guns," Urkel added frantically. "And strippers! And drugs! And whatever else you people like."

Another man came forth from the house, this one much larger, and more dangerous looking than the other. He was clad in purple, from the bandana tied to his forehead, down to his sneakers. My heart sank to my toes. It was a Balla! The thugs Franklin warned me to stay away from! What were they doing in Forum Drive, on rival gang turf?

The Balla loomed over me, tall and menacingly. Cautiously, meticulously, he approached, the porch wood creaked with every step. **_Thump. Thump._** I shrunk away, slowly backpedaling from my pursuer.

"You look real familiar, baby," said the Balla. "Tracey DeSanta, right? The bitch the Vagos been looking for—you worth a million stacks dead or alive." He licked his chapped lips. "Today must be my lucky motherfucking day."

He snatched me by the arm. A tight scream of panic slipped from my lips as I kicked and pulled to get out of his titan-like grip, my heart literally on the verge of bursting from my chest. This is crazy!

" _Help!_ " I screamed at the top of my lungs.

With a firm yank, he flung me into the house. I hit the ground with a **_thud_** , my knees scraped the tiled floor. _Crap, that hurt!_ Urkel landed beside me, but quickly scrambled to his feet. "Fuck this, I'm outta here!" He turned and bolted into the living room. "Every man for themselves!"

"Wait! Don't leave me!"

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ I can't believe Urkel left me! My eyes flittered about my surroundings for a weapon. All this stupid place had was dust bunnies and loose change scattered about. I could scream, but what good would that do? The entire neighborhood was polluted with gangsters and crooks. No one was going to help me!

A pair of burly mitts caught me by the ankle. _No!_ My gut reaction was to kick back the hardest I could. My foot collided with an ugly, gangly face, and the ironlike grip loosened. I scrambled into the kitchen and dived behind the island. Two thugs stomped in after me.

"Damn, that bitch is fast," one of the thugs fumed. "Where the fuck she go?"

"She 'round here somewhere," the other responded. "Grab a knife, playa. Can't run if she ain't got no legs."

"Hell yeah. We gon' cut her ass up. And her lil' friend too."

I swallowed deep. _What am I gonna do?_ They have knives! All I have is this stupid cellphone! I could call the cops, but no way they'll get here in time. **_Pop!_** There was pan-fried chicken sizzling on the stove, the oil still bubbling. That might come in handy…

The familiar resonance of dress shoes clicking against the floor was a soothing balm to my soul. I peeked over the island. Agent Smith strolled into the kitchen, armed for battle with two handguns dangling from a leather shoulder holster.

"If you want the girl, I'm afraid you'll have to go through me first," he said.

The thugs glanced at the knives within their grasp, and then at Smith. "Bringing a gun to a knife fight?" asked one of the thugs. "You gon' shoot us, pig?'

"Laying your hands on a lady is rather classless, don't you think?" Agent Smith unfastened his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves as he spoke. "I will not waste bullets on you pitiful brutes—no, you will surrender and lay down your weapons, or I shall teach you a well-deserved lesson in manners and humility. Either way, you will both take an evitable trip to the nearest precinct and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law—"

The thugs grew tired of Smith's rambling and charged. They unleashed a flurry of wild, sweeping swipes. My bodyguard, tall and sinewy in stature, was surprisingly as agile as a leopard, every attack deftly dodged with the slightest, meticulous movement. Again, and again, his assailants struck and missed miserably. It was astonishing and stupefying in a sense—the way Agent Smith's body would sway and fro gracefully amongst the midst of combat, like he was dancing, toying with his prey unknowingly ensnared within some maniacal waltz of death.

I watched the heated battle from afar, my jaw slack. Where the heck did he learn how to fight like that? My bodyguard was an effing bad ass! Inspired by his combat finesse, I leapt out of hiding and cheered, "Get 'em! Show 'em who's boss! No one fucks with a DeSanta and lives—"

The thugs froze mid-swing and glared at me. Silence filled the space, thick and uncomfortable like mud. My breath caught in my throat. _Shit_!

They lunged at me, sharp metal winked from the palms of their hands. I dipped low and cowered, covering my head. Agent Smith vaulted over the island to intercept them, kicking one of the attackers back to face the newcomer. He evaded the next incoming slice and grabbed the back of the thug's head. With a firm grip, he dipped the thug's face into the frying pan and held him there, the scorching hot oil melting his skin.

His muffled screams, and spasmodic twitching rattled the very foundation of the bungalow, the scent of fried flesh made my stomach queasy. It was a brutal sight to behold. Agent Smith released him. He staggered for a moment, nursing his smoked face before hitting the floor.

Horrified, the remaining thug gaped at his disfigured friend, his body trembling. "Fuck! He's dead! He's fucking dead!"

Agent Smith, seemingly undaunted by the intense ordeal, straightened his collar. "His death may have been prevented if you had come quietly."

The thug stabbed a quaking finger at him. "Motherfucker, this ain't over! You a dead man, patna! Nobody fucks with the Ballas!" He turned and took flight like a bat out of hell, leaving his burned friend behind.

Agent Smith took a step forward to pursue him. I reached for his sleeve. "Let him go," I asserted. "He's not worth it."

He ran a hand through his slicked, sun-kissed hair, and sighed. "I suppose I can make an exception for you, just this once. But evil never sleeps, love. Given enough lenience, the nefarious and corrupt will run rampant on this world—"

" _Stop._ Seriously, I am not in the mood for a lecture right now, okay? And please don't be like 'I told you so' about my dumb plan, it totally sounded foolproof at the time and you know it."

"Of course." He offered me his hand.

A sigh escaped me. _Whew_. That was a close one. Infused with a dart of adrenaline, I clung to his hand and he pulled me to my feet. "About time you showed up. Where were you? What took you so long?"

He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, and lightly dabbed away the sweat and tears from my face. "I'm afraid that's a story for another time. Where has your admirer gone?"

"You mean Urkel, the Creepy Stalker? I don't know, he ran away—"

Urkel sprung out of hiding and barged into the kitchen, holding a tiny, box-like device in hand. "Guys, I found the camera!" He glanced at body on the floor. "Geez Louise! What happened to him?"

"A conversation best had on the drive back to Vinewood," Agent Smith replied.

"Last one to the car is a rotten egg!" Urkel dashed for the exit.

"Hey, gimme that!" I snatched the camera from his grasp as he brushed past me. It was as small as a nut, the lenses inconspicuous and barely noticeable. Urkel must have a real good eye for details, because I woulda never found this thing. Now all that's left was to sift through the footage and find the truth.

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! :D Leave a review, lemme know what you think! Thanks so much for reading!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hey guys! I'm back with an update, this one is in Franklin's point of view! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Franklin**

"I can't effing believe you," Tracey turned away from me. "I hate you! You're such an asshole."

I captured her wrist. "Baby—"

She snatched her hand away from me violently. "Don't follow me, cheating scumbag."

When Tracey turned away the first time, the remorse gnawed at my insides, the seething, crippling pain clawed at soul, shredding and tearing, rooting me to the spot. She walked away, and all I could do was watch, my throat raw with unuttered shouts and protests. My lungs constricted, caving in on itself like an invisible boulder was crushing my chest. No matter how much air I sucked in through my flared nostrils, the burning, suffocating sensation wouldn't ease up. A piece of me died every time she walked away, and fuck, I hated it.

She spited my name and dragged my reputation through the mud, but I was still down for her. I gave her _everything_ —money, time, patience—shit, she could take the clothes off my back and I'd let her. She used me like a fucking doormat, and I was still here, begging for her not to leave. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't fair.

Sure, I fucked up, but people make mistakes. She has too. If money, affection, the finest diamonds and jewels wasn't enough for her—then fuck it. Deep down, I knew better than to keep holding on. If I somehow convinced her to stay, it was only a matter of time before she left again.

Her blue stare hardened, blazing with contempt. I couldn't muster the strength to meet her fierce glare, my gaze dwindled at my feet from the heavy burden of shame. "I…I n-need my space," she choked out, turning away once again.

This time, I didn't stand there and watch. With several deep breaths, I buried the pain, gathered my defenses, and called Lamar. "Ay, yo, dog. Is Tanisha a'ight? You still with her?"

Lamar said, "Yeah, she cool, better than earlier anyway. That guy she married—the brain surgeon, or judge, or CEO or whatever the fuck he is—turns out I was wrong about him. He ain't a good dude. That charity he runs helping sick kids was all a front."

"Consider us both fuckin' fooled, dog. Where y'all at, bro? I'ma pull up."

"We at the crib chillin'."

"Cool, be there soon."

"Bet. We upstairs in my room. Hurry yo' fat ass up."

I slipped through the backdoor of Lamar's crib to avoid the crowd. The last thing I needed was more weird looks, and nosey ass old folks bombarding me with uncomfortable questions. I jogged up the narrow stairs. Lamar's room was at the end of the hall, the door locked as usual. The musty aroma of weed seeped from the cracks. I pounded on the white wood with my knuckles. "Ay, man, open up, homie. It's me."

Lamar cautiously opened the door and peered through the crack. "No ugly niggas allowed, take yo' crusty ass on. Bounce, nigga—"

"Man, stop fuckin' playin'," I pushed the door open and brushed past him.

Cramped, dim-lit and cave-like, Lamar's room was just as junky as I remembered, the narrow strip of carpet had been picked threadbare, and huge dust balls were scattered across the floor. The drawers were overflowing with wrinkled clothes, the mattress of his bed dangled halfway off the slanted frame, and the grime-encrusted wallpaper was peeling, revealing gaps of concrete underneath.

Tanisha laid on the slouching bed, a lit blunt trapped between her bruised lips. Her swollen eyes followed the smoke swirling through the air. I kicked an empty bag of potato chips aside and squatted on the edge of the mattress.

"Damn, it's bakin'," I said, fanning myself. "Ain't y'all hot up in here?"

"It's a hot box, motherfucker," Lamar replied. "We tryna get fucked up."

"Not if we run out of green, nigga," Tanisha added. "Go cop us some more bud, Lamar."

"With what money, girl? You done smoked up all my motherfucking bud, and the dope man next door ain't got shit left neither."

I whipped out my wallet and handed him a fifty. "Call somebody else then, homie. I know yo' drug addict ass got more than one contact."

Lamar nodded. "Yeah I do, because you never know when freeloading ass motherfuckers like y'all might come through and start smoking up all a nigga's shit. Be back in a bit. Don't fuck with none of my shit while I'm gone, alright? Best believe I'ma know if something is missing—"

I snorted. "Don't nobody want none of your one-dollar discount ass furniture, motherfucker."

"Bitch," Lamar muttered, slamming the door behind him.

A gurgle of laughter slipped from Tanisha's lips. "Dang, you and Lamar ain't change one bit."

"Fo' sho'. Doubt we ever will."

She passed me the blunt. "So, where's your crazy ass girlfriend at? Lemme guess, she hiding in the closet? Waiting to pop out and attack me for no good reason?"

"Nah," I took a hit and passed the blunt back. "She gone, probably for good this time, I don't know."

"Over a kiss we had—what? A month ago? Two?" She grinned, short and bitter. "Fuck. Looks like that video fucked us both over, huh?"

"No doubt. She thinks it was recent, that you and I been fuckin' 'round behind her back."

"My man thinks the same thing. I tried telling his dumb ass otherwise, but he wasn't hearing shit."

"I can relate," I sighed. "My girl was in a coma when it happened, so you know, it's complicated. I don't know who's right or who's wrong. I don't know where the video came from. I don't know why my aunt's house was under surveillance in the first place. I don't know why they decided to post us kissin', of all things, online—I don't know shit."

Tanisha took another hit of the blunt, and it was like I was staring at a reflection of myself. Weed numbed the sting of depression for a short while. The trauma always had a way of creeping back up on me though. It followed me, like a thorn in my side. The only way to relieve it was at the bottom of a liquor bottle. Although, there were those rare occasions where drinking only made it worse.

She turned over on her side and gazed at me. "Why you wasting time here, Franklin? Shouldn't you be on the streets tryna to figure out who fucked us over?"

Rubbing my sweaty hands on the thigh of my jeans, I glanced at her swollen features and grimaced. It looked painful. I cupped her cheek, careful not to graze the raw, open gash on the side of her face. "I'm here 'cause I'm worried 'bout you, T. You sure you a'ight?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Why?"

"'Cause you got yo' ass whooped by a grown ass motherfuckin' man, that's why. How you know you don't got a concussion or some shit? You need a doctor, girl. You don't know what kind of damage that dude caused—"

"I'm fine, Franklin, alright?" She sat up and shifted away from me. "Jayden's a doctor, I think he would know if I had a concussion."

"For real? You think the nigga that's beatin' you gives a fuck 'bout yo' health?" I scoffed. "When the fuck did you get so damn delusional, T? That nigga don't give a shit 'bout you, girl. Stop lyin' to yourself. If he cared 'bout yo' ass, he wouldn't do shit like this to you."

She frowned thoughtfully, her eyes wet. "He loves me…" She sniffed, one plump tear rolled down her cheek. "He just, he gets so angry. This was the first time he ever did some crazy shit this…"

Tanisha was one of the strongest women I knew, and it always hurt to witness her cry. Although my feelings for her were long gone, we had history. I wanted her to be happy. She deserved better than this shit. "Ay, it finna be a'ight, T," I scooted closer, my movement slow and hesitant, hyperaware of any signs of discomfort. She didn't pull away. In fact, she leaned in, her wet cheek nuzzled mine. I embraced her, and she molded against me, her reaching fingers intertwined with mine.

Her warmth was…nice. I didn't realize it until now, but she wasn't the only one in need of comfort.

"Everythin' finna be alright. Don't cry, sweetie." I stroked Tanisha's arm soothingly. Her sleeve rose slightly, and I caught a glimpse of purple. Inconspicuously, I lifted the sleeve higher. Her wrist up to her forearm were covered in light, faded bruises. _Jayden—_ that _motherfucker._ This wasn't the first time that bitch ass doctor dude got violent with her. How long has this shit been going on? Why lie about it? Maybe she was embarrassed, or afraid—who knew what kind of irrational bullshit was going through her head?

A part of me wanted to stay out of it. Tanisha was a grown ass woman, she could handle her own damn problems. But she finna end up dead at this rate. I had enough shit weighing on my conscience. I had to do something before it was too late.

"The kiss was my fault," she mumbled. "Me and Jayden were going through some shit. I wasn't happy. I…missed you, Franklin."

I stared into the wounded almond eyes so close to mine, my gaze narrowed, gauging whether she was telling the truth or not. She couldn't have meant that. She wasn't in the right state of mind, and I didn't want to cross over any lines I'd regret. Not again, anyway.

I withdrew from her warmth. "There's some shit I gotta handle," I turned for the door. "Stay here, a'ight? I'll be back."

"Frank!" she called after me. "Where you going? Frank!"

I swung out of the room and crossed the hall in two strides. On the way down the stairs, I bumped into Ms. Davis.

"Where you going in such a rush, boy?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, I got work in the morning," I lied. "I'll see you later, a'ight? Thanks for the food."

She outstretched her arm, blocking my path. "Lamar told me you were living good up in Vinewood Hills. What kind of job you got, sweetie?"

"I own a couple of small businesses in the city—"

"You a business man now? Good Lord, yo' momma would be so proud of you. I wish my son had the drive to better himself, all he wanna do is run the damn streets and sling iron, selling them cheap ass drugs—the light bill is comin' in soon and Lord knows we ain't got enough to pay it. Scraping together the money for the rent is hard enough. We're barely holding on by the skin of our teeth—"

"Ay, relax." I laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Don't worry 'bout the rent. I got you."

"No, you done helped us enough. I know you been giving my son money."

"Yeah, and I'm sure that motherfucker ain't spendin' it productively. Look, back in the day, you always took care of me when I ain't have shit, right? Whenever the block got hot, you let me lay low here. When I ain't have no paper to eat, or no electricity at my crib, yo' doors were always open. Lemme return the favor. It's the least I can do after all the years you spent helpin' my ass out."

"Well, I suppose a lil' more help won't hurt." She pinched my cheek. "Damn, you grew up so much. You a man now! Look at all them muscles—no wonder you got all these little girls fighting over you. If I were twenty years younger, I'd want a piece of that fine ass too." She pinched my behind playfully.

I flinched and feigned a smile. "Ay, chill, Ms. Davis. This booty is off limits."

"Relax, baby. You know I'm just playing." She pinched my cheek. "Denise swore up and down that you weren't no good, but that jealous ol' heifer just bitter she ain't never had no children of her own. If you ever, ever need anything, don't you hesitate to bring yo' ass over here, ya hear? You always have a friend in me. Lamar too."

"Oh, fo' sho'. All I got is love for you too, Ms. Davis."

She threw her arms around my shoulders and pulled me close. I tensed. Chest to chest, she nestled the back of my head with a tender hand, her fingers clutched my shirt, unwilling to let go. I've been hugged before, but never like this, not since my Grandma died. The embrace was warm, genuine, something about it felt right, smelt right. She gave me the respect of an equal but cradled me like a cherished child.

All the love was going to take some getting used to. Maybe she missed me. Damn, I should visit more often.

* * *

After a short call with Lester, I got an address.

A gloomy, muggy mist settled over the city. Black clouds churned overhead, the first drops of rain dotted my windshield. Soundless lightning flashed against the night sky to the east. The freeway was a dark, endless river, teeming with cars towing one another through the fog with their headlights.

Thunder boomed, violent and deafening as gunfire. I cringed, my grip on the steering wheel tightened. It was gonna be one hell of a storm. But there was no turning back now. I was almost there. I had to see this shit through.

I made a sharp turn at the next exit, my tires screeched against the wet pavement. The steep lane ahead was shadowy and roughly paved, bumpy, the street lights aged and dingy. I turned on my high beams, and gently applied the brakes, cutting the speed. Down the dreary, lonely road, a seemingly endless river of black, quiet and remote—I was alone with my thoughts. Thoughts of Tracey. Thoughts of how I fucked up _again_.

Why did she always run away instead of talking shit through? All the petty drama could be avoided if we communicated with one another like adults. The fighting, the name calling, the unnecessary distance—one day she was down for me, the next she hated me. What was the point of all the games? I was in love with her, and she was in love with me, and that shit never changed no matter how much bullshit we went through.

She knew what she was doing. She knew I've been lonely all my life. Motherfuckers always dipped when I needed them most and she played on that weakness time and time again. And for what? A reaction? An apology she'd refuse? I don't fucking get it.

My fingers clutched tightly at the steering wheel, my nails digging into the rubbery fabric. Fuck, I needed a smoke. I patted down my pockets. No weed left. Just a pack of cheap Redwood cigars. Shit, it'll have to do.

Lights shimmered in the distance. A cul-de-sac emerged, the double-hung windows of various brick houses glittered like gold, warding off the darkness. Every home was symmetrical, supported and finished with stone columns, a clean, picture-perfect replica of one another—except for one.

The doctor, or lawyer, or whatever the fuck he was—his crib stood out from the rest. The house, built of red and brown brick of various shades, propped on a slight slope and bordered by tilting palm trees, was fenced in by tall vinyl planks, and stood with its shadowed back to the woods. It was square, with flat roof shingles weathered black. A balcony of narrow arches and thick, trailing vines overlooked the lawn. Fancy.

It was the dead of night and the suburban cul-de-sac was something of a ghost town. Breaking and entering was a lot easier to pull off in quiet neighborhoods like this, assuming I don't trigger any home security alarms and get my ass thrown in jail. Careful not to draw suspicion, I parked my car in an empty alleyway a short distance from the house.

Armed with only a baseball bat, I hopped the fence and landed in a hedge of carefully pruned bushes. Fluorescent light glistened from the front bay windows, piercing the surrounding darkness. I fastened my green bandana around my neck, rose it over the bridge of my nose, and crossed the damp, neatly trimmed lawn to the patio deck. Yellow candles adorned the outdoor bar and hot tub, the faint lighting left much of the backyard in shadow.

Warily, I peered through the glass of the sliding backdoor. Damn, too dark to see anything. I rattled the handle. Of course, the motherfucker was locked. Figured it wouldn't be that easy. Keeping low to the bushes, I circled around the front of the house, and stared upward at the balcony. A figure sat on the edge, staring out blankly with a wine cup in hand.

 _Shit_. Quickly, quietly, I scurried into the nearby hedge, and shrank into a crouching position. Hidden within shadow, leaf, and thorn, I waited. And waited, the earthy night's dew sinking into my boots. Finally, I peeked out. The balcony was empty now, folding door left wide open, the thin white curtains billowing in the wind.

Now was my chance. I scaled the porch steps, slid my bat between the wrought iron railing, and jumped, grabbing onto the ledge. Mindful of noise, I forced myself up as fast as I could, and reclaimed my weapon.

I pushed the curtains aside and inched a wary path into the master bedroom. The space was well-lit with lamplight, too bright, and there were mirrors everywhere—I was exposed in here. I tiptoed forward and almost slipped, the polished floor was so shiny and squeaky clean, you could literally eat off them. Well, that was before I got here, my boots tracked mud along the floor with every step.

A nasally voice rang out and shook the floorboards, squeaky and tremulous with rage, "Tanisha! Damn it, honey, pick up the goddamn phone! You can't do this! You're nothing without me! Do you hear me? _Nothing!_ "

I winced. The shrill, desperate whining was harsh on the ears. I followed the annoying noise through a high-ceilinged hall, down a spiral stairway, to a modern living room. A reedy, hook-nosed man in a floral, silken bathrobe paced the shag carpeted floor. His bald, dome-shaped head had a striking resemblance to burned, shriveled up raisin in the sun. He shouted into the phone pressed against his ear, a massive crystal chandelier dangled beneath him.

I hugged the wall before the arched entryway, out of sight and cloaked in shadows. Rain pounded against the roof, and thunder cracked, not loud, but continuously rumbling.

"You will come home this instant!" he barked. "I know I promised I wouldn't do it again, that I wouldn't hit you, but I did, okay? If you weren't such a disobedient little whore—if you didn't associate with despicable thugs and filthy, two-bit gangsters, none of this would have happened! Those Chamberlain Hills guys, your 'old friends' or whatever, they're ghetto trash! All of them! They're beneath us! Let the past stay in the past. That filthy, crime infested neighborhood of shit, and piss deserves to fucking _rot._ And if you don't come home soon, I'm gonna find you, and kick your face in so bad, none of those hood bitches you call friends will even recognize you!"

" _Pick up the fucking phone!_ " he squealed at the top of his lungs. "I'll kick your ex's ass too! He thinks he's a gangster? I'll show that fucking overgrown turd who's the real gangster! I'll fuck his corpse to kingdom come!"

I grinded my teeth, my grip on my bat tightening. _I heard enough of this shit._ I stepped out from the shadows. His eyes bulged from the sockets at the sight of me. He cowered, scrambling over the sectional sofa in a miserable attempt to get away.

"Wh-who are you?" he sputtered, teeth chattering. "What are you doing here? I'll call the cops—"

I approached him. He recoiled, his gaze fixed on my bat. "Chill, man! Don't do this! Can't we just talk? I don't want any trouble. I'm a doctor. I help people, maybe I can help you too…"

He kept talking and talking, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat thrashing in my ears. This scrawny, snooty ass motherfucker abused women, physically and verbally, because he thought he could get away with it. He had money. He had prestige.

The power trip bullshit ends today. It was personal now, more than moral conviction. It was vengeance. Something evil had awoken in me and I wanted to do more than just make him suffer.

I wanted to break his spirit.

I backed him into a corner. "Listen to me," he pleaded. "You're sick. You have to be, or else you wouldn't be here, threatening an innocent man's life for literally no reason at all—"

Annoyed by his constant fucking yapping, I clutched his face and pushed him to the floor. I waited for the right moment, the second the thunder began to stir, I struck. With a swift, overhead swing of my bat, I bashed his kneecap. **_Crack!_** The satisfying sound of his bones breaking was like music to my ears.

" _Ahh!_ " he cried, pale and sweating, clasping his broken leg, rocking back and forth as he wept wildly, the roaring thunder drowning out his screams.

I lowered my bat over the next kneecap. "Shut yo' punk ass up before I break the other one."

His weeping calmed to incoherent whimpering. I kicked his phone aside and stepped over to the rustic wine cabinet. I helped myself to a drink. "Damn, that's some good shit, dog. What kind of wine is this?"

He swallowed deep, and choked out, "It's 1939 vintage…you stupid…asshole."

"Man, this a nice ass crib you got." I scanned the spacious, extravagant living room. There were family portraits adorning the walls, as well as wedding photos of him and Tanisha. She was beaming, her pretty white smile dazzled brighter than the sun itself. There were no bruises back then. No pain. No tears. She was happy, the way she deserved to be.

I hovered over Jayden. He was still weeping, trembling like a bitch. "I know what you did to your wife," I said. "To have and to hold, to love and cherish—I guess them wedding vows ain't mean shit, huh?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "You're…one of those Chamberlain Hill thugs, ar-aren't you? Did Tanisha send you? Huh?"

"Nah, I'm Karma, motherfucker. Nice to meet yo' bitch ass." I jammed my fist into his stomach, and air wheezed out from between his teeth.

He quaked violently. "God fucking damn it, stop hitting me! I'm a doctor for Christ's sake!"

"Like I give a fuck." I clutched his chin, forcing him to look at me. "Nigga, you were supposed to be her one-way ticket outta the hood. She had high hopes for you, man. You just had to go and fuck it all up, didn't you?"

He shook his head, quick and stiffly. "It's not over," he huffed. "No, no…I love her. I love every inch of her, even if she is ghetto trash—"

I slapped the back of his head. "Ay, call her that shit again, and I'ma beat yo' ass to a bloody motherfuckin' pulp."

"Okay, okay! Calm down! She really is ghetto though. You and I both know it."

My temples throbbed. I blew out a huff of air through flared nostrils. This dude was really testing my damn patience. "I came here thinkin' I could talk some sense into you. But motherfuckers like you don't change. You a waste of my time, dog." I stood and held my bat over his head. "I know how this shit ends. I seen it before. I ain't gonna let you kill her. Say goodbye, nigga—"

"Pl-please," he begged, tears surged down his face. "I lost control, okay? I-I get so angry…I can't stop it. I'm sick, I'm a piece of shit. I'll-I'll get help. Just…just don't kill me."

"Why shouldn't I, nigga? You thought you could just keep preyin' on motherfuckers weaker than you, and it'd never come back to bite you in the ass?"

"It wasn't supposed to be this way. I love her, I swear…" Like a child, he rocked in place, his shoulder blades shook with harsh, uncontrollable sobs. I frowned. It hurt to watch a grown man break down and cry like a baby. He was broken.

"If you love her, then act like it, stupid." I knelt before him. "If you love her, then make shit right."

He nodded frantically.

"Don't make me come back here again," I threatened. "Clean up yo' motherfuckin' act, 'cause if you don't, nigga, I'll break yo' motherfuckin' skull. I _will_ kill you, a'ight? I don't give a shit 'bout makin' yo' wife a widow, she'll be better off without yo' ass anyway."

He nodded and nodded, great shuddering sighs slipped from between his lips. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

I pulled away and swiped a bottle of wine on the way out. My good deed of the day was officially done. Might as well treat myself.

* * *

Thankfully, the cookout was over by the time I got back to Lamar's crib. It's been a long ass day, and I was literally falling asleep at the wheel. I skipped over the discarded paper plates and plastic cups littering the lawn and knocked on the door. It took a while, but Ms. Davis eventually answered, wearing a silk sleeping gown and satin bonnet. "Baby, it's three in the morning. You alright? I thought you had work in the morning?"

"Oh, my bad, I didn't realize it was that late," I feigned a smile. "With all the bullshit goin' on between Tanisha and her man, I couldn't sleep. The situation is real fucked up."

"Boy, ain't that the truth. Did you see her face? It's a damn shame. There's something wrong with folks nowadays, must be something they putting in the food or the water that's making everyone crazy." She clasped my hand and ushered me inside. "Come on, baby. There's plenty of leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. Lamar passed out on the couch, that boy was high as a kite earlier, speaking all kinds of nonsense."

"Yeah, I bet. It's all good, I'll crash in his room instead."

"Alright, honey. Make yourself at home and shit. I need to get some sleep, I got five clients to see tomorrow and Lord knows I'm gonna need all my strength to comb through them naps."

"A'ight. Good night, ma'am. Sorry for wakin' you."

She clasped my cheek, her voice softening. "Try and get some rest, sweetie. We'll talk more about all the drama you got going on with them little girls tomorrow."

"Fo' sho'," I feigned a smile. "See you in the mornin'."

Once Ms. Davis went to bed, I dragged my feet up the steps and shuffled into Lamar's room. Tanisha was still here, lying in bed, tossing fretfully in her sleep. Sweat trickled down her forehead. She was having a nightmare. I laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Ay, T, wake up," I shook her gently. With an exclamation of fright, she jolted upright. Panting heavily, she scrambled away from me. "Damn, girl. You a'ight?"

"Jesus, Franklin…" She clutched her chest, and let out a deep, calming breath. "You scared me."

"My bad. You good? Need me to get you anythin'?"

She wiped away the beads of sweat on her brow with her sleeve. "Some cold water would be real nice right now."

"I got you." I flung out of the room, grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, and returned to her. "Here you go."

"Thanks." She raised the bottle to her mouth with a shaking hand and took a sip. We sat in silence for a moment, until she said, "Do you ever feel like you're going crazy?"

"Crazy is normal in a city like this," I replied. "Just 'bout everyone I know is a psychopath. Sometimes I wonder if that shit is contagious."

She chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. "I have this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like dread, or some shit, like something bad is going to happen—"

"Ay, relax. Everythin' is cool, girl. You been through a lot today, but it's over now. You safe here."

She smiled. "You sure your girlfriend won't barge in and try to snatch my weave out again?"

I grinned and pulled away. "Shit, I hope not—"

She grabbed my hand, her smile faded. "Why you always leaving? Where you going now?"

"Girl, I'm tired. It's been a long day."

"Frank…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I really don't wanna be alone right now. Can't you just… _stay_?"

Tanisha's eyes were watery and pleading. Without much thought, I kicked off my boots, set my snapback aside, my weary body sunk onto the bed in silent compliance. Like a magnet, her body clung to mine. I sighed, struggling to relieve the tension in my muscles. Sleeping in the same bed with your ex—it was strange concept to grasp. Honestly, it felt kind of wrong, but Tanisha needed someone to lean on, and I was all she had. Besides, she was more than just an ex. She was a friend.

Being platonic snuggle buddies for a night was harmless, if it doesn't escalate any further, at least.

"I still love him," she murmured tearfully. "What am I gonna do?"

"Let's worry 'bout that in the mornin', okay?" I draped an arm around her. "Try and get some sleep, T." I held her in a snug embrace for a while, my eyelids heavy. Every now and then, she'd shiver and let out an impassioned whimper. Through the heavy fog of weariness, I hugged her tighter each time, and uttered reassurances into her ear.

" _It's okay…don't cry…I'm here, baby…It's all good…"_

Eventually, she gave in to the temptation of sleep. I dozed off right behind her.

* * *

 **Whew, another chapter down! :D I hope I did a good job getting into the psyche of Franklin, he's an amazing character and I hope I'm doing him justice. I can't believe this fanfic is literally 200k words long! We've come a long way together. Thank you so much for reading thus far. Please leave a review, let me know what you think! It means the world to me to receive honest feedback. I love you guys!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Hey guys! Another chapter for you. This one is mostly dialogue, hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Tracey**

My racing heartbeat calmed as we merged into freeway traffic, the gang-ridden neighborhood of Strawberry disappeared behind us. Thank god, we were still alive. Things could've gone _much_ worse.

Urkel panted from the backseat, quivering and out of breath. "Holy macaroni! Blessed Mary, Mother of God, that was crazy! Th-those thugs almost killed us!"

"Almost, but it didn't count!" I beamed, throwing my arms up into the air in glorious victory, a rush of adrenaline revitalizing my body. "We won! They lose!" Guided by glee and overwhelming gratitude, I reached out to my amazing bodyguard and planted a huge kiss on his stubbled cheek. "You are literally the best bodyguard my dad has ever hired, and I'm going to keep you forever."

He remained silent, a deep blush rose from his collarbone, his entire face glowed a vivid red. I chuckled. It was a rare sight to witness a well-composed, and often aloof man like Agent Smith flustered. His bashful appearance reminded me of Franklin, the way his normally hard, scowling expression would crack into a wide, blushing grin whenever I whispered sweet nothings to him…

Memories of my fiancé flooded my mind like a monsoon, washing away my happiness, my giddy elation swept away in an instant. I slouched into my seat. I hated him so much for what he did, but I still missed him.

Urkel clenched the back of Agent Smith's seat. "Dude, you burned that guy's face off, his skin was all bloody, and bubbling and oozing and stuff! It was so gross and insane—it was awesome! Hey, we're not gonna get in trouble for being your accomplice, right? You're FIB, you can get away with anything, can't you?"

Agent Smith let out a patronizing snort. "I assure you, there will be no legal repercussions due to our scuffle. You two were unfortunate victims of kidnapping and aggravated assault. Luckily, I happened to be in the right place at the right time, and successfully intervened."

"Hell fucking yeah, you did. How'd you learn how to fight like that? There were two of them, and they didn't even touch you."

"I was trained in close quarter combat by the Bureau. If the situation demands it, the ability to apprehend and neutralize a suspect through force is an essential part of the job description."

"Sure, cops go through combat training too, but most of them are fat, donut eating slobs with a parking ticket fetish. And when they do go after bad guys, they shoot first and ask questions later."

"My dad has plenty of FIB friends and they're literally all bark, no bite," I added. "Most of them are obese too."

"Many of my colleagues prefer guns over fists," Agent Smith said. "However, the country's widespread availability of firearms and our heavy reliance upon them has made us clumsy combatants."

"But you're like, not clumsy at all," I replied. "How come?"

"Cmon, man, tell us the truth," Urkel pleaded. "Where did you learn how to kick ass like that? It couldn't have been _just_ the Bureau."

Agent Smith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, our questions and the intimate probe of our eyes totally had him on edge. "You two are awfully persistent."

I grinned, "The fancy British accent, the cool moves, the suit—are you secretly James Bond?"

"If I were, I would be doing more important things than babysitting. Unfortunately for me, I am an ordinary man working a government job for an ordinary salary."

"Except," Urkel said, "an ordinary FIB agent woulda shot those guys and called it a day. It's so much easier to shoot people than to take them down unarmed, especially if they have knives. Not that I have any first-hand experience, but still."

Agent Smith grew silent. For a moment, he seemed immersed in deep thought. Finally, he answered, "I suppose morality overthrew my rationale. Bringing a gun to a knife fight seemed…unproper."

"I will pay you to teach me karate," Urkel urged. "Please, I wanna be cool too."

"Okay, back to business, guys," I blurted, "We got the camera. Now what?"

"Uh, I'm gonna need a computer," Urkel answered. "And a sync cable. And a flash drive so I can make copies—"

"Try it and I'll cut off your tiny, micro-sized dick and throw it in a blender," I snapped.

"Whoa, relax! I was just kidding."

I rolled my eyes and glanced at Agent Smith. "Any idea where we can go to get the footage off this thing?"

"We can go to your place, Tracey," Urkel leered, watching me like a predator locked onto its prey. "And once I get you what you need, while we're there together, maybe we can come to some kind of agreement? I help you, you help me…" He licked his chapped, blade-thin lips suggestively. My skin crawled. _What a creep._

Agent Smith swerved to the side of the road, he stomped on the brakes and the tires squealed. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Why'd you stop?" He lunged out of the car, ignoring my questions. Confused, I gaped through the windshield at him. His eyebrows drawn together in a scowl, he circled around the car, threw open the backdoor, and grabbed a fistful of Urkel's blonde curls.

"Dude!" Urkel cried at the top of his lungs, his eyes budging from the sockets in shock. In a tearful, trembling tantrum, he kicked and pulled for freedom, but Agent Smith's clutch did not falter.

I stared, still confused, but made no attempt to stop the violence. Urkel kinda deserved it.

"I grow tired of this charade." Agent Smith tightened his grip, forcefully holding Urkel's head still. He lowered his shades and knelt until they were eye to eye, an uneasy stillness split the air. "You look at Ms. DeSanta like she's an object, a toy to be used, a hollow shell crafted for your pleasure. Are all women the same to you? Are they nothing more than slabs of meat to be preyed upon, terrorized, stalked, taken by force and subjugated?"

He drew his handgun and pressed the dark metal against Urkel's forehead. "You are a sick, perverted little worm and I ought to exterminate you like the insect you are."

Tears burst from Urkel's eyes. He clasped onto Agent Smith's suit and pleaded desperately for his life. "No! I won't follow her anymore! Dude, please! Don't!"

Agent Smith glanced at me. "Are you convinced?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "He's a dedicated, full-time creeper. I don't think that'll ever change—"

"Just let me go!" he begged. "I'll change, I swear!"

"Splendid. Now off you go." He tossed Urkel out of the car by the roots of his shaggy hair, and returned to the wheel, quickly peeling off down the road.

"Hey!" I punched Agent Smith's shoulder. "Why'd you do that? I needed him!"

"Not anymore," he grumbled.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. _Okay, that just happened._ Agent Smith drove, stoic and composed, his face a stony mask as usual. With Urkel's eerie presence no longer looming nearby, a quiet, peaceful serenity reclaimed the space. I smiled to myself. I was safe again.

"Actually, you totally shoulda done that sooner," I said.

"Forgive me," he replied quietly. "I could no longer humor his sick fascination with you. It was…uncomfortable. Sickening. You are a lady. You deserve respect."

My stomach tingled, the uplifting sincerity of his words filled my soul with light. My composure cracked, and I smothered a sob, tears welled in my eyes. Today had been such an emotional roller coaster of ups and downs. My life was a mess, my emotions a chaotic whirlwind constantly changing on a whim, I was breaking seams, barely holding it together, I just wanted to scream!

I missed my fiancé. I missed my family. God, all I wanted was a normal life. To love, and to be loved. Was that too much to ask for?

"Here, dry your eyes, love," Agent Smith handed me a handkerchief. "I have an office at the Bureau. We can access the footage there. It is a simple task, no overzealous stalkers needed. And, if you will indulge me, we can order delivery."

"Cake from Bean Machine?" I sniffed.

He smiled. "Yes, dear. Anything."

* * *

Agent Smith's office was a cold, cramped space, the odor of hand sanitizer lingered in the air. The polished wood desk was clean, stacks of files and sticky notes arranged in neat stacks, even his pens and pencils were organized in color coordinated rows. There was a single potted cactus on the windowsill, a touch of green in an otherwise bland, colorless room.

Perched on a steel chair, I tapped my feet against the slippery tiled floor. "What's taking so long?"

Slouched in a brown leather recliner, Agent Smith muttered, "There is seven-hundred hours of footage I must scour through. Please, be patient."

I shifted my weight uncomfortably. "This stupid chair sucks."

He shifted his gaze from the computer to me. "Would you like to switch?"

"Heck yes."

We swapped chairs. My body melted into the soft cushions. It was like laying on a cloud of squeaky leather. Agent Smith spun the monitor around and continued working. My eyes fluttered about the office. God, this place is so boring. My phone was almost dead and there was nothing to do.

There was a photo on his desk of a redheaded girl. She was a plump child, maybe four or five, with a cheeky face of fiery freckles, sapphire blue eyes, and the cutest smile.

"Who's she?" I probed.

He didn't reply.

"Hello?" I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "I asked you a question."

"Tracey, please," he sighed. "I am trying to work here. I am doing this for you, remember?"

"And? It's just a question."

He grew silent again. Determined for his attention, I slipped the photo from the frame and snatched a pair of scissors from the desk. "Tell me who she is, or I'll cut her little freckled face in half."

Agent Smith lunged from his seat, his eyes wide and alert. "You would not dare."

I snickered. "I totally would dare. Scratch that, I'll double dare!"

"Give it back this instant."

"Nope," I teased, giggling. "Make me."

Agent Smith did not seem amused. His square, mask-like face cracked, tightening with tension. "Tracey, I am warning you—"

I frowned. "Why do you care so much? It's just a photo—"

"She is…" He gave an exasperated sigh and ran a wobbly hand through his slicked blonde strands. "She is my daughter, she is… _dead._ " A glazed look of despair spread over his face. He leaned on his desk, head bowed, and shoulders drooped as if the heavy load of emotion sweeping over him was too much to bear.

A pang of guilt shot through me. My heart clenched. _Oh, crap, what did I do? I didn't mean to upset him!_ Desperate to provide comfort, I took his side and clasped his arm, my face nuzzled his shoulder apologetically. "I'm a terrible friend."

He wouldn't look at me, his head remained bowed, and eyes cast downward.

I bit back the sob rattling my chest. He was my bodyguard, but my friend too—the only friend I had. "Don't be mad at me," I pleaded.

Agent Smith took in a deep breath, the slight trembling in his sinewy muscles began to steady. With a patronizing, yet affectionate pat on my head, he turned away, and reclaimed his seat. Raw pain glittered in his sparkling cobalt eyes, sore and weary, bordered with tears. I pulled up a chair next to him.

He sat still, seemingly lost in thought, his thin lips dipped into an even deeper frown. I touched his sleeve, a timid reminder of my presence, that I was here for him.

I rested my head on his shoulder and stared up at him. "Don't be sad. I'm sorry."

His fingers closed around mine and squeezed my hand, giving rather than seeking comfort. "Please, don't apologize. How could you have known?"

For a time, we lingered in comfortable silence, the warmth of companionship soothing out the roughness of the day. We held hands, and his were almost as soft as mine, manicured too, no callouses, scars, or discoloration except for the knuckles, leathery and battle-hardened.

Agent Smith broke the silence. "Once, you asked me why I got into this line of work," he spoke slow, weakly. "This broken city has taken everything from me. I thought I could fix it, repair the cracks in the system by bringing the rich and corrupt to justice. Perhaps saving others would mend the pain…but what does it matter when the one you swore to protect—the one who needed saving the most…you weren't there?"

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say.

He continued, "She was much like you, ditzy and naïve, yet so very passionate and full of life. She had a knack of attracting trouble, that one. Her free-spirited attitude was impossible to tame. She was strong willed for her age. My angel was so very strong…"

A single tear rolled down his cheek, pearl-shaped and luminous. I reached out and wiped the away the wet, crystal-like bead. "I'm sorry about your daughter," I said. "It sucks that's she's gone, but you are making this city a better place. You saved me a bunch of times, and I'm sure you saved dozens of people before me, too. You're like, the only good guy in a city full of rapists, thugs, and crooks. You're a hero, Smith."

He feigned a smile. "That is very kind of you to say."

I nudged him. "Hey, it's true. All you're missing is a cape."

"And superpowers," he added. "Crime fighting would go much smoother if I were Clark Kent."

"Or Impotent Rage. I get how your feeling though, losing your daughter and stuff. I lost someone close to me too."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, my fiancé."

Agent Smith broke into his first genuine laugh of the day. "I don't believe that's quite the same, love." There was a knock at the door. "Pardon me," he straightened his collar, combed the few hairs gone astray atop his head with his fingers, and regained his composure in two quick breaths. Fully composed and armed with his trademark poker-face, he answered the door. A round-bellied, rosy-cheeked agent in a suit stood on the other side, a brown paper bag dangled from his grasp.

"You ordered take-out, Smith?" asked the round-bellied agent.

"Indeed, I have," Agent Smith replied.

"Take it then." The round-bellied agent handed over the bag. "It's been sitting at the front desk for over an hour. Everyone thought you forgot about it. Agent Carter had half a mind to steal it, you know he loves cake."

"You have my gratitude, Richards."

The round-bellied agent gazed at me. "Who is the woman in the bikini?"

Agent Smith hesitated, peering at me from the corner of his eyes. I drew my knees up to my chin and hugged them. I seriously needed a change of clothes. "She is a trusted informant of mine," Smith said. "An asset of a very sensitive case to which I have been assigned."

"I see," the round-bellied agent pursed his lips. "Well, try and keep things professional, Smith. You are new here, but a United States federal agent all the same, and you are expected to conduct yourself as such. Failure to do so will result in immediate termination. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir. Rest assured, I have no intention of mixing business with pleasure."

"Los Santos' crime rate is growing steadily, reaching record-high numbers. We must turn this crisis around, Smith. The Bureau expects nothing less than excellence."

"Of course," Agent Smith offered him a false smile. "I will not disappoint."

"Your job depends on it, Smith. Good day." The round-bellied agent spun around and left.

Agent Smith slammed the door behind him, and grumbled under his breath, "Wanker."

I giggled. "Did that guy seriously think we were having sex?"

"Sex? With the likes of you?" Agent Smith let out a quick, pretentious snort. "I would sooner shag a tree, or a flagpole—"

"Oh my god, _really_?" I tossed a pen at him. "Dick. You are so mean."

He smiled. "Forgive me, I am only teasing. But in all seriousness, you are not my type."

"Bullcrap." I whipped my hair around my shoulders and stuck out my chest, my boobs bouncing as I struck a sexy pose. "I'm everyone's type."

He quirked his brows, seemingly unimpressed. "Let's agree to disagree, shall we?" He passed me the paper bag. "Eat now. I must get back to work. The footage you seek will not find itself."

"Okay, but like, I'm super curious now. We're BFFs, and I don't even know what type of girls you like."

He returned to his computer. "Best friends forever? Goodness, I must have missed the memo."

"Uh, hello? You saved my life, like, how many times? You drive me everywhere, you do whatever I tell you—"

"Sounds more like slavery than friendship."

I ignored his totally untrue comment. "No one said our friendship was healthy. But yeah, we cry together, we eat cake together, we went clubbing together, you stayed at my house for like a week before you got shot."

"For your own protection, love," he added.

"Whatever, we're besties, deal with it." I rooted through the bag for my Victoria sponge cake slice. I was starving! One bite was like heaven, the rich sweetness of buttercream filling and tangy strawberries melted in my mouth. Like an addict craving a fix, I crammed the cake into my mouth in chunks, finishing my portion in a matter of seconds. "I like my men tall, dark, and handsome, with lots of money, and a jawline for days. What about you?"

Agent Smith averted his eyes from the computer to me, amused, "My therapist insists I am pansexual."

I gasped, my hand flew to my chest. " _You're gay?_ "

"Gender-blind," he corrected. "Pansexuality, omnisexuality, whatever you would like to call it, assuming we must use labels—"

"That's so cool! I always wanted a gay best friend." I nabbed the cinnamon roll he ordered from the bag. "Are you hungry? Can I have it? I'll pay you back."

"By all means, indulge yourself." He took a glimpse at his watch. "It is only a quarter to six. We can always order seconds."

"Awesome," I said, chomping on a mouthful of buttery sweet dough. "This is so good—"

Agent Smith rose his palm, silencing me. "Come. I found something."

"Took you long enough." I shot up from my seat and scampered to his side of the desk, my eyes glued to the monitor screen. The video was paused, Franklin and Tanisha sat side by side, thighs snuggling. _So gross._ It had a striking resemblance to the clip posted on Lifeinvader, except longer, the unedited footage grainy, and washed out.

"This was recorded forty-five days ago," he said, "at eight in the evening, approximately one-thousand and ninety-six hours have passed since then."

"When I was in a coma," I observed.

"Goodness, you were in a coma?"

"It's a long story. Just play the video."

He clicked play, and the heart wrenching video resumed. Tanisha leaned in and proceeded to eat my fiancé's face like the desperate whore she is. The footage didn't end abruptly like the clip on Lifeinvader, however. Franklin pulled away. _He pulled away!_ The whore ran off in tears. My heart flipped. A wide, unbridled smile pulled at my lips.

"He didn't have sex with her!" I exclaimed, beaming and bouncing in place energetically. "He didn't cheat on me!"

Slow and mockingly, Agent Smith clapped his hands together, his expression indifferent. "How lovely. Now, I am going to get back to my _real_ work, if you do not mind—"

"Screw your stupid work, that crap doesn't matter. The fate of my future marriage is at stake, we have to find my fiancé! Hold on, lemme get in touch with him first." Fingers trembling with excitement, I yanked out my phone and called him.

It rung and rung. No answer. Pacing back and forth, I called him again. And again. And again…

"Oh my effing god." Flustered, I tugged at the roots of my hair. "Why isn't he effing answering?"

Agent Smith shrugged. "Perhaps he is busy. I am sure he will get back to you later."

"Wh-what if he's mad at me? What if he hates me? I slapped him, took his money, threw his dead parents in his face, called him a cheating scumbag—I was really mean."

"Mean is kind of an understatement, don't you think?"

"You are totally not helping." I collapsed on the recliner and bit off a piece of my cinnamon roll. " _Ugh_. How hard can it be to pick up a phone? Sure, I've been ignoring his calls like all day, but he's not supposed to ignore mine. It's not fair! Is he trying to spite me? He's such a drama queen, it's annoying."

Nose deep in a stack of files, Agent Smith shook his head. "The irony of your predicament is so baffling, I am not sure whether to laugh or cry."

I went on with a heavy sigh, "My fiancé hates me. My life is over. Why am I even alive?"

"I find self-depreciating humor to be more pathetic than amusing."

"I'm serious! Just kill me now."

Halfway through munching on my cinnamon roll, my stomach began to churn painfully. A sudden dizziness blurred my sight. Nauseous and woozy, I swooned, barely able to keep myself afloat within my seat.

"Tracey?" Agent Smith's gaze softened with concern. "You look awfully pale. What is the matter?"

I whimpered tearfully for help, unable to speak, nausea ripped at my throat. Unable to force down the bile, I scrambled on all fours to the tiny trash bin in the corner. Globs of partially digested cake spewed from my mouth, the foul, disgusting taste burned my throat. Hot tears spilled from my eyes. Agent Smith hovered over me, his protective hands swept my hair gently back from my face as projectile vomit shot into the bin. I heaved and heaved for what felt like forever, my stomach violently contracting non-stop.

I was used to vomiting. I used to self-induce it all the time back when I was trying to lose weight, but this felt nothing like it. It was different. It was torture! Something was _wrong_. My stomach was weak. My body lethargic, and strangely sore. My throat burned. I felt miserable.

Retching for breath, I croaked, "I think I'm dying."

My bodyguard stroked my back with unbelievable tenderness and care, his nurturing touch made the room warmer, the walls a little less bleak. "Oh, sweetheart, you mustn't fret. You will be alright." He knelt beside me and wiped my mouth with a handkerchief. "Goodness, you stink. Was it the pastries? Did you eat too much? Are you dehydrated? Hot? Cold? Talk to me, love. How are you feeling?"

"I wanna go home," I panted. "Take me home…"

He laid a palm on my forehead. "Oh my, you are burning up. You need medical attention, dear—"

" _Home,_ " I insisted. " _Please._ "

* * *

I felt so much better now that I was home, surrounded by the safe, cozy walls of my bedroom. As usual, Dad was nowhere to be found, and Jimmy was locked in his room, playing his dumb video games. Everything was normal, until Agent Smith made a joke about me vomiting all over his office in front of Mom, and now, she won't leave me the heck alone about it. Parents are so dramatic. The nagging was driving me crazy!

Despite my protests, Mom booked a short Asian doctor for an overly expensive, same day at-home checkup. She hovered over my bed, scribbling notes into a book, breathing into a face mask as if I had some infectious airborne disease. Mom sat pretzel-style on the mattress beside me, threading her fingers through my hair. The thorough examination the doctor gave me was over, and we were eagerly waiting for the results.

"So?" said Mom impatiently, her glare fixed on the doctor. "You ran your tests, now tell me what's wrong with my daughter. What's her diagnosis?"

Still fixated on her notes, the doctor responded with a thick Chinese accent, "Good news and bad news, Ms. DeSanta."

"Good news first," I urged.

"You are healthy girl," the doctor said. "Vitals are normal. Very, very good. No problems."

"And the bad news?" Mom asked.

"You pregnant!" the doctor squealed happily. "Congratulations! You going to be a mommy!"

A tense silence filled the air. Mom grew stiff, her eyes bulging from the sockets. My stomach dropped to my toes. Dazed, I gaped at the doctor, mouth slack in utter disbelief. "Are…are you serious?"

"This my job, 'course I'm serious," the doctor said. "You go to hospital, take peepee test again if you no believe. Up to you."

Mom expelled an audible breath. "No, that can't be right—"

"She pregnant," the doctor repeated. "She going to have baby."

I touched my stomach. Hearing the big news like this, in my own bed, so suddenly…it felt unreal. I didn't know how to feel, or what to do. My mind raced. I was pregnant! There was a baby inside of me—a mixed baby! What if it was twins? I always wanted twins. I smiled to myself, happy, yet terrified. Was I ready to be a mother? Was Franklin ready to be a father? Our baby was going to be so cute.

Mom did not share the same enthusiasm. Laying a splayed-out hand against her chest, she buckled over, her expression pained, and eyes cloudy. What was she thinking? She looked so disappointed. I chewed on my bottom lip, my chest tight and aching. _Dad is going to kill my fiancé..._

"Mom," I turned over to face her. "What's wrong?"

"Seriously, Tracey? Are you fucking kidding me?" Mom tore away from me, her face flushed a deep scarlet. "It's Franklin's, isn't it? Your father and I warned you to stay away from that thug!"

I argued hotly in his defense. "Mom, he's not a thug! He's a good guy. I love him, and he loves me. We're engaged!"

"He doesn't love you," she spat. "That gangbanger almost got you killed using you as bait for the Mexican cartel. You were in a coma! You almost died!"

"You are such a hypocrite, Mom. Dad is an effing psychopath, and a crook, but that didn't stop you from marrying him."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not the same."

"Yes it is!" I shouted. "Me and Franklin are going to have a beautiful black baby, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

The doctor tapped Mom's shoulder. "You got diagnosis, we done here. I go now. Good luck with black baby."

Mom's voice softened as the doctor flung out the door. "Your father helped me raise two beautiful children, provided for them, kept them safe, and I'll always love him for that. But no matter where we hid, or how long we ran, his criminal past always had a way of catching up with him. The secrets, the lies—my husband has committed unspeakable crimes to get us where we are financially, and Franklin has too. Do you honestly want to spend the rest of your life running from the police? Paranoid? Constantly looking over your shoulder because of the enemies he's made doing god knows what behind your back?"

My cheeks burned. Although I refused to admit it out loud, Mom kinda had a point. My life had become considerably more dangerous since I met Franklin. It wasn't entirely his fault, but still…

Mom cupped my cheek. "I was your age once, I know what its like to be in love with the bad boy. Your father was the worse of the worst, him and Trevor always plotting some deliberate scheme to screw someone out of their money. I knew he was bad news, but he was so dangerously sexy—"

I gasped, "Ew, Mom! Gross!"

"It's true, your father was hot stuff back in his day, where do you think you got your looks from, sweetie?" She pressed a hand to my stomach. "You're a grown woman now, capable of making her own decisions. But if you choose Franklin, unless he changes for the better, just know that your unborn child will never truly be safe. There will always be someone after you. I want a better life for you, honey. Without the crime, and the killing…something better than the life your father and I gave you."

The bitter truth of Mom's words bought tears to my eyes. "I know he has problems, Mom," I whimpered miserably. "But I-I don't want him to change. I love him for who he is. I can't live without him. I rather be dead, rotting in a hole, being eaten by bugs, feasted on by parasites—"

"Tracey!" Dad barged through the door. "What's going on? I heard you were sick, baby. What did the doctor say?"

"She's pregnant, Michael," Mom blurted. "Franklin is the father."

* * *

 **She's pregnant! Shocker! Or maybe some of you seen this coming, considering all the unprotected sex they had, it was bound to happen, right? Well I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Do you guys remember a couple weeks ago (or maybe it was a month or two ago, I don't know), I mentioned that the fic was almost over, and then I proceeded to write like ten more chapters after making that announcement? Yeah, kinda embarrassing, I know.**

 **There will only be TWO MORE CHAPTERS after this one, and maybe an epilogue depending on how things go. And this time, I'm serious! I'm riding this fanfic out to the end, baby! I will complete this story if its the last thing I do! So if you made it this far, I just want to thank you for your ongoing support, and taking the time out of your day to read my work. I love you guys. Please leave a review, your feedback means everything to me. Curious about something in the story? Let's talk! Send me a message! Communicate with me guys, the GTA fandom is full of awesome people, and I'd love to hear from you. Thank you! :D**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hey guys! I'm back with an update after like...forever lol. Trigger warning: there's a mention of suicide. Now that that's out of the way, let's get to reading!**

* * *

 **Franklin**

"Franklin!" I jerked awake at the sound of Lamar's voice. Dazed and drowsy, I groaned, adjusting my eyes to the intense sunlight streaming through the windows. It took me a moment to realize I was laying on Lamar's funky ass mattress, inside his hot, funky ass room. He hovered over the bed, staring down at me as I slept like a motherfucking weirdo.

"Nigga, it's three in the damn afternoon," he barked. "The fuck you still doing here?"

"What?" I rubbed my weary eyes and peered at my phone. The low battery warning flashed, and the screen shut off, but not before I caught a glimpse of the time. Shit, it really was three o'clock. Damn, I overslept. I glanced at the empty space beside me. Tanisha was long gone.

"This ain't no daycare, you a grown ass motherfucking man," Lamar continued. "Don't you got somewhere to be? Take yo' sleepy ass on, man. Get the fuck up outta my bed. The frame wasn't designed to hold fat ass motherfuckers like you for an extended period of time, you finna break my shit. And then what, Frank? When you break the bed, and then whole damn ceiling collapses on top of us 'cause of yo' hungry hippo ass—where we gonna sleep? How I'm gonna explain that shit to my momma?"

I rolled my eyes. This stupid motherfucker was getting on my nerves. Drenched in sweat, I slipped on my boots and rose languidly to my feet. "Lamar, shut yo' crispy, earthworm lookin' ass up, man. I ain't in the mood to deal with yo' bullshit today, fool."

"You should be thanking me and momma for providing your bum ass with shelter. That's the problem with niggas these days. They ain't grateful."

I grabbed my snapback from the nightstand and brushed past him. "Instead of worryin' 'bout what the fuck I'm doin', you need to pull yo' head out from underneath yo' momma's ass and get a real job, bro. You a parasite, nigga, motherfuckin' freeloadin' ass bitch."

"Nigga, you a bitch!" Lamar swept up one of his old, stinky sneakers from the floor and tossed it at me.

I stepped aside, dodging the shoe. "Missed me, bitch. You ain't shit."

"This ain't over, fuck nigga. I got more where that came from." He picked up another pair of old shoes—huge work boots. I winced. Those could do some damage.

I backed up to the door, my hands held high in surrender. "Ay, man, chill. You win, a'ight? Don't do nothin' stupid—"

"Bitch ass bitch!" he blurted, hurling the boot at my head. I ducked. The flying leather soared over me and into the hall. **_Bam!_** The house quaked, the impact of the shoe created a gaping hole in the flimsy drywall. "Oh shit!" Lamar grimaced.

I stared at the broken pieces of sheet rock and dust coating the floor. "Damn, nigga. Yo' moms finna kick the shit out yo' ass for that."

"Nah, this is your fault, nigga. I'm blaming you! You were supposed to block the shoe with your face—"

"Lamar Davis!" Ms. Davis' voice boomed from downstairs. "You better stop makin' all that noise before I come up there and shove my hand down ya throat, pull your intestines out ya mouth, and then whip yo' ass with it! Do you understand?"

"Yes, momma!" he called back reluctantly.

"It's ma'am to you, nigga," she replied. "Don't you be getting smart with me 'cause you got your little friend up there! I'll whip Franklin's ass too, this is my motherfucking house! I know y'all hear me!"

"Momma, I mean, ma'am, we understand!" Lamar shouted. "Franklin threw something and fucked up the wall up—"

"Nigga, what?" I glowered. "I ain't do shit."

Ms. Davis replied, "Whatever Franklin done fucked up, he better fix it! Or else it's gonna be me, and him, and I'm bringin' my granddaddy's got-damn sledgehammer. And you best believe I'm gonna be the only black ass motherfucker still breathin' when I'm done!"

I tensed. "Ay, Lamar, she ain't serious 'bout that sledgehammer, is she?"

Lamar nodded. "Yep. She most definitely is. Better fix that shit before she come up here, nigga."

With a heavy sigh, I gazed at the gaping hole in the wall. "Nigga, do I look like a motherfuckin' handyman to you? You fix it, motherfucker. I got shit to do, dog."

"I don't know what the fuck you goin' on about, Frank. Momma thinks _you_ did it, not me. I ain't the nigga with the problem, yo' ass is, motherfucker. Chop, chop, nigga. That wall ain't gonna fix itself, _biatch_." Lamar slammed his bedroom door in my face.

I gritted my teeth audibly. Goddamn. Pinning the blame on me was pretty smart. Well, for an absolute fucking moron, at least.

I drove to the nearest hardware store to get the supplies needed for the task. Due to my inexperience with patching up boot-sized holes in drywall, (or repairing shit in general), it took me roughly two hours to make sure the job was done right. I woulda been done sooner, but Lamar nagged me relentlessly until I agreed to share a blunt with him. And then Ms. Davis offered me a homecooked meal. Ain't no way I'd pass that up.

After dinner, I said my goodbyes to Lamar and his moms, and returned to my car. My crib was _still_ under construction, considering Trevor thought it was a good idea to bring a motherfucking attack chopper to a gunfight. It was cool that he saved Tracey and I from Madrazo. Real cool. But raining bullets down on my house, reducing my property to nothing more than rubble and dust? Not cool.

Guess I had no choice but to spend another night at the hotel. Alone.

I charged my phone on the way there, its been dead since this morning. The moment it turned on, a seemingly endless amount of notifications popped up on the screen—forty-seven missed calls from Tracey, two from Trevor, five from Amanda, and a text message from Lester.

 _Got a lead on Madrazo. Call me._

Tempting. As much as I wanted to follow up on that lead, the missed calls from Tracey and Amanda was impossible to ignore. The fact that Amanda called me at all was…weird. That lady hated me with a passion. I'm sure if I disappeared one day, never to be seen again, she wouldn't mind. She'd probably prefer things that way if I'm being honest. I wasn't good enough for her daughter.

If she took the time out of her day to call _me_ , of all people, then shit really must've hit the fan. Something was wrong. I called her back, my pulse pounded in my temples as the phone rang. And rang. And rang. My leg bounced anxiously. Maybe she was busy. Or maybe some bad shit happened to her and I'm too late—

Finally, she picked up. But it wasn't her voice on the other line. It was Michael.

"You son of a bitch," he spat viciously. "About fucking time you grew a pair of balls. You done avoiding us? Huh? You ready to be a man?"

"What?" I asked. "The fuck you talkin' 'bout, Mike?"

His voice deepened into a dark, menacing sneer. "My house, _now._ I mean it. Don't make me come looking for you, kid."

 _Click_. He hung up.

Well, shit, that just happened. Michael was _pissed_ at me _again_ , but at least he wasn't going to kill me. If that was the plan, he wouldn't do it at his crib in front of his family. But why? The fuck did I do now?

* * *

It was a chilly night, dark smudges of clouds loomed overhead, and palm trees danced and fluttered in the merciless wind. Fists buried deep within the pockets of my sweater, I hustled up the driveway toward Michael's crib, gravel crunched beneath my boots with every step. Tracey's bodyguard stood watch by the door, gun on his hip, legs spread, and hands folded neatly over his stomach as he stared vigilantly into the night.

I sucked my teeth at the sight of his overpriced suit and stupid ass shades. _Fucking feds._ Them dudes were crooked as fuck. What the hell was Mike thinking keeping them around?

His gaze snapped to me once I reached the steps. "Mr. Clinton," he greeted me with a nod, and opened the door for me. "A pleasure to see you. I hope you are doing well—"

"Yeah, whatever, man," I brushed past him, my shoulder bumping his roughly as I stepped into the house.

 ** _Crack!_** **_Crash! Bang!_** I froze. What was that? Frenzied arguing and c _lattering_ noises filled the house, the commotion coming from the kitchen.

"I can't take this shit no more!" Michael boomed, the walls quaked beneath his rage. "He's a dead man! I'm gonna kill 'em!"

"Michael!" Amanda shouted. "Please, calm the fuck down! You're acting like a maniac! You can't just go around killing anyone you want."

"I gave him my blessing!" Michael ranted on. "And this is how he repays me? The fucking audacity…Baby, I'm through being the nice guy. Can't you see I'm trying to protect us? I won't let him tear our family apart."

"That's not your decision to make, Michael."

"She ain't ready for a baby!"

"Stop!" Tracey squealed at the top of her lungs. "I'm so sick and tired of you guys arguing over me! It's effing exhausting! I'm not a kid anymore, so stop treating me like one!" She stormed out of the kitchen, and stomped up the steps, retreating to her room with her head bowed and tears streaming down her face. She was so busy sulking that she didn't even notice me.

"See what I mean?" Michael asked. "He's tearing this damn family apart."

Jimmy intervened. "Dad, I know you're like, super pissed F-Dog cheated on your daughter and everything, but can you really blame him? He was born and raised in fucking Chamberlain Hills, practically the most dangerous hood in all of LS. He's ignorant, okay? Literally a walking product of his environment, through and through. Tracey knew that from the beginning. The guy is a ghetto gangbanger who's probably murdered like hundreds of people, and banged twice that amount of hoes. I doubt he has much of a conscience."

My muscles quaked. _Motherfucker._ After all those times I put my life on the line to save him and his ungrateful ass family, that's how he felt about me? Fuck that, I was done being treated like shit. What made these motherfuckers so much better than me?

Lips pinched tight, I strode toward the uproar of chaos. The kitchen was in complete disarray, the floor was littered with broken plates and glass. The strong stench of liquor wafted in the air.

Jimmy's face flushed as red as a tomato at the sight of me. "F-Dog! My brother from another mother—"

"Fuck you, Jimmy," I sneered. "You don't know me, fool. None of y'all motherfuckers do."

Michael edged toward me until we were eye to eye, his fists clenched, and limbs trembling dangerously. Tension split the air. I stood my ground, my insides bubbled, boiling hot, the intensity of his savage hostility only fueling my own. His wife called out to us, but her tearful nagging was drowned out by the harsh thumping of my own heartbeat. I was seething, on the verge of bursting at the seams, and all I could see was Michael.

He grumbled, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass right here, right now."

I let out a short, scornful laugh. "Man, you ain't finna do shit. You know why? 'Cause I've been keepin' score, bro. How many times I saved you and your motherfuckin' family? The FIB, Madrazo, the Chinese, the fuckin' hillbillies—I was the only nigga down for you even after Trevor turned his back on yo' shady ass. I bet you forgot 'bout all that shit, didn't you?"

Michael shook his head and turned away. He swept up a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and poured a shot before responding. "I didn't forget, kid. There's a reason you're still breathing, and I suggest you don't press your fuckin' luck."

"We're grateful for what you've done for our family, Franklin," Amanda added. "But what does that have to do with you proposing to our daughter? Filling her head with all these empty promises about marriage, children, starting a life together, and then _cheating_ on her with your ex? We saw the video online, everyone did! You embarrassed our daughter in front of the entire world—"

"Nah, that shit wasn't legit," I argued hotly in my defense. "Somebody set me up. I know it looks bad, real bad, but I swear, I'd never do some fucked up shit like that to your daughter. For real, I ain't the diabolical villain y'all paintin' me out to be. I ain't tryna tear your family apart—"

Michael pounded his fists on the counter. "Bullshit! You're lying through your teeth, F, and you fucking know it. Do I look stupid to you? I was your age once, I know the game. You think my daughter is some cheap fuckin' whore you can nail and then move onto the next? Just another broad on the list, huh?"

I grimaced. "Nah, man. It ain't like that."

"That's my fucking daughter, Frank!" In one quick, rage-fueled movement, Michael spun around and latched onto the collar of my sweater. Unable to constrain himself any longer, he shook me violently, screaming in my face like a deranged madman, spit flew from his mouth with every word. " _My fucking daughter!_ I'll kill you before I let you hurt my baby girl again!"

I flinched, edging away from him to avoid the gross, projectile spit. "Ay, dude, stop spittin' on me—"

"Michael, stop," Amanda demanded. "This isn't helping anything."

"This is your _last_ warning, you motherfucker," Michael threatened. "Stay away from my daughter—"

"Ahem," Tracey's bodyguard cleared his throat, grabbing our attention. He held out a cellphone to Michael. "Apologies for my interruption, but Agent Norton is on the line. He requested to speak to you."

Michael shook his head. "I'm a little busy right now. Tell Davey I'll get back to him later."

"Apparently, it is of the upmost importance," the bodyguard urged. "You know, in regard to your Madrazo problem."

"Madrazo?" Michael glanced at the phone, and then back at me. "This ain't over, kid." He released me with a shove, and then snatched the phone. "Oh, hey, Davey, how's it goin'?"

I let out a heavy sigh, smoothing down my rumpled clothes. I should've known Michael would see the video of me and Tanisha and freak the fuck out over it. He had a flare for the dramatic. And, of course, he didn't believe a damn word I said. He didn't want to. Regardless of the video, he wanted me out of his daughter's life. He didn't approve of our relationship from the beginning. No one did, except Trevor, which doesn't really count because he's crazy as all shit.

There was no use fighting it. It was a losing battle. I wasn't welcome here, and I never will be.

I turned for the door, my teeth gnawed on the inside of my cheek. In some weird way, the pressure eased the emotional hurt twisting and churning within me. My heart hammered against my chest, squeezing painfully like a raw, open wound. There was a point in my life where I considered the DeSantas to be the family I never had. Man, I was stupid. Some people were meant to be alone. It was karma, it had to be. After all the bad shit I done, I deserved a lot worse than this. Nothing good ever lasts.

I stepped through the doorway, into the cold, bitter night. A hand grabbed my wrist, stopping my advance.

"Franklin," Amanda called to me. "Don't you dare walk out that door."

I turned my head, taking a glimpse at her from the corner of my eye. "What? I thought you didn't want me here."

"My husband doesn't want you here. But I do." She pulled me into a hug. I tensed within her embrace, my brows furrowed. Less than five minutes ago, she was throwing foul accusations at me like I was biggest scumbag in the world. The fuck was going on?

"I'm so sorry about my husband, sweetie," Amanda said. "He thinks what he's doing is right, but he's wrong. I don't know what's going on between you and my daughter, or whether that video was fraudulent or not, but I do know that my daughter needs you, now more than ever. And you need her." She clasped my cheeks in the palms of her hands, and gazed up at me, her eyes wet and pleading. "Please, stay. Don't give up on my daughter. Talk to her. I won't let Michael hurt you, I promise."

"For real?" I asked. "You didn't want me around her before. Why the change of heart now?"

"She…she's…" Amanda stammered, mouth gaping like a fish, seemingly at the loss of words. A plump tear rolled down her cheek.

I squeezed her shoulder. "Ay, what's wrong, Amanda? You good? Talk to me."

" _She's pregnant_ ," she blurted out.

My heart came to a slow. Eyes budging, I stumbled back, leaning against the side of the house for support. "Wait…" I fumbled for words. I couldn't believe it. My brain couldn't process the news. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ I clutched the side of my head in disbelief. "What? What did you…did you just say she's pregnant?"

"You should talk to her," Amanda wiped her tears and backpedaled away, disappearing into the house.

* * *

 **Tracey**

Huddled under the covers, I stared blankly at the shadowy ceiling, the tears swelling in my eyes distorted my room into a hazy blur. Dad was an effing psychopath. Mom was a pushover and a hypocrite. My brother was a total idiot. My family was the worst. They didn't want my fiancé around because they hated to see me happy. They wanted me to suffer. The feeling was mutual, I hate them too! I wish they'd just disappear. I'd be so much happier.

What am I gonna do? Franklin was avoiding my calls. I was the laughing stock of the internet. Everyone hated me. Madrazo wanted my head on a pike. And to top it all off, I was pregnant with a baby no one wanted me to have. God, my life sucked. I glanced at the bottle of painkillers on my nightstand. I should just swallow them all. No one can tell me how to live my life anymore if I'm dead. Madrazo was going to kill me anyway. Overdosing on some crappy pills would probably hurt a lot less than whatever the Mexican Cartel was going to do to me.

 ** _Knock. Knock._** There was someone at the door.

"Go away," I grumbled. "I'm sleeping."

The door eased open to a crack, and Franklin's voice seeped through. "If you sleep, how are you talkin' right now?"

"Frank?" My heart lurched. "You—you can't be here. Dad said—"

"I ain't scared of yo' pops." He slipped inside and shut the door with the back of his heel. "I'm a grown ass man, and you grown too, girl. Can't let Michael call the shots forever. It's your life, you choose how to live it, not him."

"I'd have a lot more freedom if Madrazo wasn't in the picture."

"Yeah, we both would." He stood by the edge of the bed. "You mind if I sit down?"

"Sure." I reached to turn on the lamp, brightening the room. We hadn't been apart for long, but it felt like forever, and he was just as beautiful as I remembered, his rich brown complexion held a striking glow in the warm light. He shrugged out of his sweater, revealing a white, sleeveless shirt underneath, his great, muscular arms rippled with every slight movement. He was the perfect depiction of male strength and masculine beauty, his body sculpted in all the right places like a Greek statue, built to be worshipped and admired.

I flushed. "Wh-why are you taking off your clothes?"

"Uh, it's hot in here," he replied. "I can put the sweater back on—"

"No, no, it's okay. You can keep it off, I was just, um, wondering…" I swallowed deep. _Awkward._ "Anyway, how are you?"

His brows knotted tight, he snapped, "Trace, fuck the small talk. You and I are way past that shit."

"Okay, like seriously, calm down. I was just making conversation. You don't have to be such a moody asshole about it."

An uncomfortable silence oozed between us. I chewed on my lip, unsure of what to say, or to do. I was terrified to share the news about my pregnancy. How was he going to take it? What if he didn't want the baby? What if he did want it? Honestly, I wasn't even sure what I wanted at this point.

Franklin broke the silence. "Remember the last time I was here? When yo' pops barged in and caught us together?"

"Yeah," I giggled at the memory. "He attacked you with a baseball bat. I was so scared for you."

He chuckled. "Yo' whole family was there. Surprised I could look back on it and laugh, 'cause at the time, it felt like the end of the damn world. That shit was humiliating."

"It totally was. I got you in a lot more trouble than you bargained for, didn't I?"

"Nothin' I couldn't handle. We had fun together, regardless of all the fools that tried to kill us."

"I know. I woulda died like five times over if it weren't for you."

"You saved me once too. Guess you were right 'bout us bein' a team. You make a decent sidekick, girl."

I smiled, absentmindedly toying with my engagement ring. "Why haven't you been returning my calls?"

"Yeah, 'bout that—sorry. I got caught up in some shit last night, then I overslept, and when I woke up, my phone died. Didn't get a chance to charge it until around five."

I rolled over, hugging my pillow, my back facing him. "Sounds like a crapload of excuses to me. I hate when you lie to me, Frank."

"Baby, I never lied to you."

"I feel like you are right now," I accused flatly. "I needed you to be here for me, and you weren't. You were avoiding me. Just admit it."

He glowered, "Nah, I wasn't, but for the record, it was _you_ that left my ass at the barbecue, not the other way around. You said you 'need space', so I gave it to you. My bad I didn't run back to you like a damn dog the moment you fuckin' called."

I threw off my covers and launched myself upright from the bed. I seriously wasn't in the mood to argue with him today. "Whatever, I'm not doing this. Your attitude is so effing annoying." I took off for the door.

He grabbed my wrist. "Nuh-uh, you ain't goin' nowhere. You want people to treat you like an adult, then start actin' like one. No more runnin' away from yo' problems. No more drama queen bullshit. No more tantrums. Sit yo' little spoiled ass down and talk to me—"

 ** _Slap!_** My hand whipped across his face. "Don't effing talk to me like that," I jerk my arm from his grasp. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

He stood, a solid slab of dark, dangerously sexy muscle towered over me. He surrounded me, backing me into a corner, the intoxicating scent of his woodsy cologne engulfed my nostrils. I shivered, heat coiling in my stomach, my heart skipping an alarming number of beats. I hazard a glance at his face. Oh crap, those gorgeous hazel eyes. They could sweep a girl off her feet with just one look. He was stunning. Jaw-dropping. How could I stay mad at a face like that?

He cupped my cheek, his calloused thumb traced across my trembling lips sensually. His other hand gravitated forward and down, closing over my breast. My breath caught on a surge of yearning so abrupt and intense, it hurt. "Why do you always leave me?" he asked, his voice quiet, husky. "It hurts when you run away, baby. I'm…" He took a long pause, sighing deeply, his gaze softened with a rare, delicate vulnerability. "I'm tired of bein' alone. Everyone that shoulda stayed with me left. My moms, my pops—gone. I don't wanna lose you too, girl. I need you to be down for me. I need you to stay, a'ight? _Don't leave_. Can you do that for me? Can you stay with me?"

I nodded hastily. His truth seeped so very seductively from his lips, his guarded heart cracked wide open and bleeding with such honesty I never thought possible, I never thought he was even capable of. Knowing Franklin, admitting his abandonment issues to me was no easy feat, and I loved him for it. He trusted me. Finally, he trusted me enough to be soft. Vulnerable. Emotional.

Moved by his bittersweet confession, tears burst from my eyes. In this very moment, I felt more connected to him than I ever did before. A pang of guilt stuck me. I left him multiple times, unaware of the damage I caused, and scars left behind. He was so good at hiding the pain, how could I have known? "I-I'm sorry," I choked, my voice strangled with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

Franklin sealed his lips over mine. His kiss was light, hesitant, as if it were the first time, as if he hadn't kissed me countless times before. His tentative touch was a pleasant surprise. I closed my eyes, melting into the kiss, savoring the moment of his overwhelming sweetness. He withdrew slightly for air, his breath was warm, and carried the cool tang of sugary bubblegum.

He swept me into his arms, and gently eased me down onto my bed, his massive body hovering over mine. I clung to him, my thighs wide open to receive him. He settled himself comfortably between them, his fingers skimmed over the waistband of my shorts.

I sniffed, mustering what little strength I had left to stop myself from crying. "It's been like two whole days since we had sex."

He chuckled, wiping away the tears from my cheeks. "For real? It's been _that_ long? Damn. What we finna do 'bout that?"

"I have a few ideas." I slipped a hand into his joggers and captured his length. He was big, already semi-hard too. God, I missed him.

He wiggled away to the other side of the bed, a pearly white grin overtook his features. "Ay, chill, babe. No freaky shit at yo' pops house. Haven't you learned from the last time we got caught?"

"But Frank, I love you!" I threw myself on top of him, planting playful smooches on his blushing cheeks. "Don't you love me?"

"Mhmm, I love that ass too," he slapped my butt. "Even though it's flat as a motherfucker—"

"Oh my god!" I grabbed a pillow and hit him with it. "Shut up. You're so mean. It's not flat!"

"I love you, but I ain't gon' lie to you, girl."

"Whatever, jerk. You're lucky I can't remember why I'm mad at you—"

"Trace," his tone abruptly grew serious. He stared into my eyes with a searching intensity, his nose nuzzling mine. "Is there somethin' you wanna tell me?"

I traced a finger along his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his soft, manly beard. "Yeah. I'm like, super hungry right now. Can we get some food?"

"Okay," he snorted, trying to smother a laugh. "Is there anythin' else you wanna tell me?"

"Um…" The thought of telling him about the pregnancy crossed my mind. But I didn't want to ruin the moment. We were happy, and I wanted it to last. Besides, I wanted to share the big news in a more creative, romantic way. I had a few ideas, but it was going to take lots of planning. Unless, my stupid parents spoiled the surprise after I spent hours and hours begging them not to. "No," I lied to him. "I don't think there's anything else. Why? Did my parents say something?"

Mom's voice seeped through the crack of the door. "Franklin? Tracey? I need you to come downstairs. There's some FIB agents here who want to talk to you."

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review, lemme know what you think! Love you guys, thanks for reading!**


	31. Chapter 31

**Hey guys! I'm back with an update, two chapters in the same week because I love you guys THAT much! And, I was feeling really inspired, my creative juices were really flowing this week lmao. Okay, let's get to reading!**

* * *

 **Tracey**

A group of stern-faced FIB agents awaited Franklin and I in the living room. The moment we sat down, they bombarded us with questions.

"Where were you the night Madrazo lost his ear?"

"Where were you the night Madrazo lost his second?"

"How did you get stranded in Grand Senora desert? Who was with you? How did you make it home?"

"Tell us about Paleto Forest. Who were the bounty hunters? Are you sure they were connected to Madrazo?"

"Agent Smith mentioned in his report that you were attacked by the cartel at club Stargaze. Tell us what happened, from the beginning."

I was _exhausted_ by the time they were done prying us for information. Being interrogated was nothing like in the movies. It lasted hours, the questions seemingly endless. I was tempted to leave halfway through, but Mom insisted that I stick around and help the agents in anyway I can, so they can finally put an end to the cartel and Madrazo forever. But Franklin wasn't convinced.

He stood on the porch, brows wrinkled, and arms crossed as the long throng of FIB vans pulled out of the driveway and drove away. "Man, that was a waste of time," he muttered.

"At least they're gone," I said, lazily dragging myself back into the house. With a heavy sigh, I flopped on the living room couch, stretching my legs across the cushions. Franklin sat beside me, sinking into the pillows, my feet settled comfortably in his lap.

There was a tingling in the pit of my stomach, and my head was beginning to throb. _Ugh._ I was not feeling so good. I rubbed my temples in attempt to ease the discomfort. My fiancé's hazel, scrutinizing gaze flitted over me with startled interest.

"Babe, you good?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm just…stressed. It's been the longest two days of my life and I barely got any sleep. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. My mind is always racing. There's always so much going on, so much to worry about. This whole Madrazo thing is too much, I'm going to go crazy! I want him gone, Franklin. He's ruining my life. I'm tired of him, and his stupid, annoying goons. Why won't they leave me alone? Sometimes, I just wanna run through a minefield of explosives and get it over with."

He massaged my feet calmly as I spoke. Seemingly unfazed by my impassioned complaining, he muttered, "There ain't no minefields around here, girl."

"Madrazo is such a desperate sicko," I continued. "Like, it's pathetic how badly he wants to kill me. He's jealous of me. I mean, who wouldn't be? I'm young, I'm beautiful, I'm famous, I'm the effing bomb. Have you seen my Bleeter posts? I'm living my best life, everyone wants to be me. I'm gorgeous, I'm sexy, I'm super effing smart—Madrazo is terrified of me. I should've applied to Harvard. I'm totally wasting my intellectual talents right now."

Franklin snorted. "I wouldn't go that far, baby. Thinkin' ain't really yo' strong suit, no offense."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "That's not funny. Why aren't you taking me seriously? My life is in literal shambles right now, and you're cracking jokes? There's a million-dollar bounty on my head! I'm a wanted woman, Frank! And I don't mean that in a sexual way, like every guy wants to bang me, even though they actually do but that's beside the point—"

"C'mere," he gathered me into his arms, and squeezed gently, our cheeks nuzzling. "I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you, Trace. Everythin' finna be a'ight. Just relax. You worry too much, baby."

I hugged him, basking in his familiar, comforting scent, my face buried in his strong, thick neck. Curled up in a ball, safe and protected by the sheltering arms enclosed around me, my worries and fears dispersed in an instant. The world around me faded, and there was only one thing that mattered, only one thing I cared about: my love. My future husband. My heart swelled with gratitude. What would I do without him? He was my everything.

"I'm sorry about overreacting at the barbecue," I confessed. "That was stupid. I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

"I don't blame you," he said. "That video made me look real bad, I ain't gon' lie. If I were you, I probably woulda reacted the same way."

"It doesn't matter. I said a whole lot of crap I didn't mean, and you deserve an apology." I dug into pocket and pulled out the wad of cash I snatched from his wallet at the barbecue. "Here, this is yours. I didn't spend much of it, just enough to catch a cab home."

He grabbed the money and tucked it back into my pocket. "Nah, keep it."

"Are you sure? It's three-hundred-dollars, Frank."

"And? Money ain't no issue for me, Trace. You know that." His fingers traced a delicate line along my cheekbone, down to my jawline. Cupping my chin in his warm hand, he searched my upturned face. "You know, I've been thinkin' 'bout who posted that video. Who else would waste the damn time and effort settin' up hidden cameras around my aunt's crib _but_ Madrazo? That scandalous motherfucker—bet he's tryna sabotage my relationship with you and yo' family so it's easier to pick us off. We weaker when separated. It's all part of his master plan, girl."

"Well, his master plan is working," I said. "Dad hates you. Mom can barely tolerate you. It sucks. My family is the worst. You wouldn't believe how badly they've been on my back lately. Seriously, Frank, I'm barely holding it together. I'm so stressed."

"Okay, tell me what's been goin' on between you and the fam', then. Gimme all the details. Talkin' it out might make you feel better."

"Are you joking? Don't you hate when I ramble about my problems? You never take me seriously."

"'Cause you got a tendency to be real dramatic, Trace." He smiled apologetically. "But I'ma make an exception, just this once. Ramble all you want, babe, 'bout anythin'. I'm listenin'."

I jumped at the opportunity to gossip about my broken home and spill my thoughts. Much to my surprise, Franklin listened intently, as if my words were sacred, as if it's exactly what he's been waiting to hear all day. I spoke, and spoke, and spoke, and he rubbed his bearded chin in deep contemplation before replying with an intricate strategy that's several steps ahead of what I'm capable of. His words were compassionate, laced with a heartfelt concern exclusively reserved for me. His caring, thoughtful demeanor was one of the most attractive qualities I've seen in a man in a long time.

Mom shuffled into the living room, interrupting our conversation, "I'm going out," she stated, her designer purse dangling from her shoulder. "I have a hot yoga appointment, and I won't be back until ten. Jimmy is upstairs on his video game, and Michael is taking a nap. He shouldn't bother you guys, but if he does, call me. You two behave yourselves while I'm gone. Agent Smith is right outside if you guys need anything, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I replied. "Have fun with the sweaty, gross yoga."

"Ay, Amanda," Franklin said. "You sure it's a good idea for you to be goin' out by yourself?"

"I appreciate the concern, but when you're married to a man like Michael, you're used to having enemies." Mom rooted through her purse and lifted a little silver gun proudly for us to see.

"Jesus, Mom," I cringed. "Oh my god, put that thing away!"

"Relax, Tracey. It's just a gun." She turned away. "I gotta go. See you guys later!"

Franklin snickered. "Damn, yo' moms is a thug, Madrazo better watch out."

My stomach rumbled loudly. I pouted, "Frank, I'm starving."

"Aw," he showered my cheeks with kisses. "What you wanna eat—"

"Pizza!" Jimmy shouted, scrambling down the stairs. He rushed into the room, his fat stomach and pudgy cheeks bouncing with every energetic step. "C'mon Frank, buy us some pizza, dude! We're homies for life, aren't we?"

Franklin's face went grim at the sight of my brother. His jaw clenched, and a vein in his forehead grew engorged and throbbing. I swallowed deep. _Oh no._ He was about to explode. I had no clue why he was on the verge of breaking a blood vessel, but I knew my fiancé well enough to catch the signs beforehand. Fearing the worst, I clasped both sides of his face, forcing him to look at me.

" _Don't_ ," I whispered, stroking his cheek soothingly. "He's my brother. Whatever he did to you, just let it go. _Please._ "

He stared at me, his expression softening. A frown flitted across his features, his rugged face becoming somewhat brooding. Wordlessly, he pulled away and grabbed his sweater, shrugging it on.

"F-Dog," Jimmy said. "Are you going to get us the pizza or not?"

"Sure, why the fuck not?" Franklin grumbled. "I'll get yo' fat ass some pizza. It's the least an ignorant, hood motherfucker like me can do, right?"

"Dude, that stuff I said earlier, I didn't mean it, man. I swear—"

"Trace," Franklin said, ignoring my idiot brother. "You want anythin' specific?"

"Garlic knots," I replied. "And some lasagna, extra cheese, please."

"I got you." Hands buried deep in his pockets, Franklin turned away.

"I'm coming with, homie! Race you to the whip!" Jimmy sped past Franklin and flung himself out the room.

"Hey!" I called after my fiancé. "You're just gonna leave without saying bye?" He swung to face me, nose wrinkled, seemingly irritated. I rose from the couch and threw my arms around him. "Frank, don't be mad. I hate it when you're mad."

Nostrils flared, he took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm tryin' not to be, babe. But Jimmy…I know that's yo' brother and all, but that motherfucker annoys the shit outta me."

"Annoying is kind of an understatement. Just go and get the food, and when you come back, I was thinking we can spend the rest of the night at a hotel? Just you and me?" I lifted my shirt, flashing him with my bare breasts.

He gaped at me, his cheeks flushed red. "Oh, uh…damn, girl. You get straight to the point, don't you?"

I struck a sexy pose. "Like what you see?"

"Mhmm." Eyes glued to my chest, he nodded slowly. "They real nice. Best titties a nigga done ever seen."

"Right? You should touch them."

"Uh…" He blinked, snapping out of his trance. "Baby, I should go. Jimmy's waitin' for me and—"

" _Touch them_ ," I demanded. "Just one squeeze before you go. C'mon, I know you want to—"

"Quit playin', girl." Grinning, he grabbed my shirt and pulled it down. "Now really ain't the time for none of that freaky shit. Wait 'til I get back, then we can play, a'ight?"

"You promise?"

"Promise," Franklin smiled, his brooding demeanor gone with the wind. "Hold tight. I'ma be right back."

* * *

I watched two whole episodes of Fame or Shame, and the boys still weren't back with the pizza. I was gonna die of starvation at this rate. What the heck was taking them so long?

"Fuck you, Trevor!" Dad blurted from upstairs. "You wouldn't understand, man! It's complicated!"

Ugh. Dad must be arguing with Uncle T on the phone, as usual. I turned up the volume on the television, tuning him out. I had better things to do than eavesdrop on two old farts arguing with one another about crap I could care less about.

I was more concerned with the whereabouts of my effing food. It's been at least an hour. I reached for my phone and called Franklin. He picked up after the first ring. "Wassup?"

"Don't you 'wassup' me," I said. "It's been like an hour. What's taking you guys so freaking long? Did you get lost or something?"

"The pizza joint Jimmy picked out is busy as hell today, we spent majority of the time waitin' in line. These dudes are taking their sweet ass time makin' this pizza. It's bullshit—"

My phone picked up Jimmy's muffled voice. "Tell Tracey to calm her fake tits, the food is totally worth the wait."

"Ay, man, don't talk 'bout yo' older sister like that, have some fuckin' respect, dog," Franklin scolded.

"Dude, seriously?" Jimmy asked. "You're so fucking pussy-whipped, it's disgusting."

"Keep talkin' shit, motherfucker. I'ma shove my boot so far up yo' fat ass, you finna be shittin' out leather for a month—"

"Franklin, can you please _not_ hurt my brother?" I begged. "Just ignore him and come back home already. I miss you."

Franklin replied, "I miss you too, but I ain't comin' back without yo' food. You know how cranky you get when you hungry, baby. It won't be much longer, I'll be home soon, a'ight?"

"Fine," I sighed. "I love you."

"Love you too. See you soon."

The moment he hung up, my heart sunk low in my chest. I already missed his voice. Love hurts. It was hard being so dependent on another person, I was shamelessly addicted to his closeness. I could barely function like a normal human being without him. Hopefully he comes home soon. I wasn't sure how much longer I could wait.

The tread of approaching steps stole my attention from the television. Agent Smith hovered over me and pried my phone from my hand. I stared at him blankly. "Uh, hello? What are you doing?"

He lowered his shades, his expression a mask of stone. Quietly, he uttered only three words in that monotone voice of his, "We've been compromised."

My heart skipped a beat. "W-what?"

Without warning, the power went out, flooding the house in darkness. A yelp of fright spilled from my lips. I scrambled to my feet, stumbling over the coffee table. My mind raced, blood pounded in my brain, my knees trembled, my heart thundered, pumping so fast on the verge of bursting from my chest.

What was going on? What happened to the lights? How did we lose power? "Smith?" I called out into the darkness, my gaze darted about the shadows. He was gone! I couldn't find him! "Dad! Mom! Is anybody here? Hello?"

"Tracey!" Dad called to me from upstairs. I beamed, happier than ever to hear his voice. All I had to do was find my dad, and I'd be safe. I moved cautiously through the darkness. Careful not to trip over my own feet, I shambled up the steps.

 ** _Bang! Bang! Bang!_**

The stutter of gunfire stopped me dead in my tracks. It came from upstairs. My breath caught in my throat, a violent shiver rippled through me. _Oh my god._ "Dad!" Infused with a sudden burst of adrenaline, I skipped up two steps at a time, turned the corner and barged into his room at full speed.

I peered through the swallowing darkness. There was a shadowy figure pointing a gun straight at me.

I threw my hands up in surrender, my throat constricted so tightly, I could barely breathe. " _Don't shoot!_ " I choked out, my voice shaky and hysterical. "Please! Don't kill me, I'm pregnant—"

"Tracey?" Dad's voice soothed my nerves. Before long, I was in his arms. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"

"I-I'm okay," I replied, clinging to him for dear life. "What's going on? I heard shooting, a-and—"

He pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh. We gotta get outta here, alright? Stay close to me." With a click of a button, a flashlight gleamed from Dad's hand. He pointed the beam into the hall, revealing Agent Smith. He lurked in the shadows, eerily motionless, calmer than ever as he blocked the doorway with a handgun within his grasp, completely unfazed by the swirling blackness surrounding him.

"Smith," Dad greeted him. "What're you doin', man? We're fucked if we stay here. We gotta move."

"Forgive me," Agent Smith muttered, drawing his gun on Dad. He pulled the trigger. Twice. **_Pow! Pow!_** Both projectiles hit my father in the chest. The flashlight hit the ground with a _thud._ My eyes widened, the world blurring into a misty haze as my father slumped lifelessly to the floor.

I stood in a petrified daze, speechless and confused, unsure of whether I was dreaming or not. _This can't be happening._ The floor swayed beneath me. Black spots clouded my vision. Unable to keep myself afloat, I lost my footing. I hit the floor. **_Bump._** A sharp pain exploded in my skull, so intense I couldn't keep my eyes open.

A familiar voice spoke softly to me before I lost consciousness. "I…I had no choice. I am so very sorry, love."

* * *

 **Umm, plot twist anyone? Lol I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I love Michael, so this one was a hard one to write. But don't despair! I won't leave you guys on a cliffhanger for too long! Next chapter is the last, excluding the epilogue of course, so stay tuned! I love you guys! Leave a review, lemme know what you think! See you guys soon!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Hey guys, I'm back with TWO new chapters! A (late) Halloween treat for y'all! Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Franklin**

There was a white kid blocking the driveway to Michael's crib. In a state of extreme panic, he waved a pair of crutches wildly above his head, bouncing in place, his frantic movement either a call for help, or a warning sign to turn back. I stomped on the breaks, stopping in the car before him, his sweaty, flustered face shining in the headlights.

"Don't go in there!" he shouted as I stepped out of the car. "It's not safe!"

Jimmy appeared beside me, holding the box of hot pizza close to his chest. He glared at the kid. "It's you again! Dude, what are you doing here? _Go away_. Seriously, dude, this whole 'stalking my sister' thing is really getting old—"

" _She's gone!"_ the kid blurted. "I was hiding in the bushes nearby, totally minding my business, not being a stalker or anything, when a bunch of federal agents came with guns and started shooting up the place. Her bodyguard, Agent Smith or whatever, dragged Tracey out of the house and threw her in the back of his van. I woulda helped her b-but I was freaking out. She looked dead! There was blood!"

My heart hammered against my ribcage, prickles of panic chased up and down my back as the bad news sunk in. _Shit._ No, she _can't_ be dead. I was just talking to her on the phone, she _can't_ be dead. She was home. She had to be. Infused with a sudden jolt of adrenaline, I dashed for the house, and flung myself through the wide-open door, into absolute darkness. Jimmy was at my heels, his pudgy mitts clung to my sweater as we ventured forth into the swallowing blackness lurking within.

"Tracey!" I called into the darkness. "Michael! Where y'all at?" My voice rang loudly through shadows, but there was no response. I drew my Glock, and inched further inside.

"F-Dog," Jimmy muttered, breathing heavily on my neck, his grasp on my clothes tightening. "What happened to the fucking lights, homie?"

His closeness made my skin crawl. I pushed him away. "Ay, back the fuck up, man. I can't focus with yo' hot ass breath on my neck, dog."

"Dude, wait!" He scrambled in front of me. "This is a stupid! We could be walking into a trap. Shouldn't we call the cops instead of risking our own asses?"

"Jim, you stupid or somethin'? You heard the dude outside. The feds ain't shit, and neither is the motherfuckin' Five-O. We on our own, dog."

Arms flailing almost comically, he wailed, "Homie, it's too fucking dark. I can't do this, man. I need my antihistamines! This is fucking crazy—"

I slapped my hand over his mouth. " _Shut the fuck up_ ," I muttered through clenched teeth, deadly serious. "Go wait for me in the car, a'ight? Lemme handle this shit."

Face scarlet and sweaty, he nodded stiffly and ran off.

Now that Jimmy's worthless ass wasn't holding me back, I continued to scour through the darkness, packing heat in one hand with my phone held high in the other, the light from my device illuminating my path. The first floor was empty, no signs of forced entry. On my way back to the living room, I squinted at the carpet. There was blood—a trail of red leading upstairs.

 _Shit_. Someone was bleeding. Was it Tracey? Michael? Amanda? My chest tightened, cold tendrils of dread enclosed around me like a giant fist, pulling, squeezing, tearing. My fingers are itchy, clammy as I slide the safety off, the cold metal heavy in my hand. A sense of urgency pushed me forward, intensifying with every loud, thumping step I took.

At the end of the trail laid Michael, face-down on the floor. He was limp, motionless, still, no signs of life—just blood. So much blood. _"Michael!"_ I blurted, dropping to my knees before him. My stomach lurched, my limbs trembling violently. "Ay yo, wake up, man! Say somethin', dog! C'mon!" I shouted and shouted until my throat burned. He wouldn't respond. He wouldn't fucking respond!

 _Fuck._ What do I do? What do I do? I clenched my head, frustrated, confused, panicking—I couldn't think straight. I could call an ambulance, but it was too damn risky. We couldn't trust those motherfuckers. We couldn't trust nobody. _Damn._ I had to do something!

I gripped his shoulders and turned him over. He was pale—well, paler than usual, there were bullet holes in his suit, right above his stomach, blood all around him…but he, _himself,_ wasn't bleeding. In fact, he was breathing in slight, almost imperceptible gasps. I sighed, the tension in my muscles loosening. _Good shit._ He was alive. I tore open his buttoned shirt. There was a bulletproof vest strapped to his chest, two bent bullets were lodged in the strong, synthetic fiber.

He coughed, suddenly coming to his senses with a strangled grunt. He greeted me between sharp, ragged breaths, "H-hey, kid."

"Fuck, Mike…" I stumbled back, my body sagged against the wall. "You good, homie? What happened? Where's Tracey?"

"Agent Smith, that motherfucker…" It was a struggle, but Michael eventually found the strength to stand up. "He's a turncoat, man—a fucking snake. He's working with the cartel. He took Tracey, he took my fucking daughter!"

I jolted upright, my fist tightened around his sleeve. "The fuck are you sayin', Mike? You let some punk ass FIB motherfucker come up in yo' crib and pinch yo' daughter? Why didn't you stop him, man? What the fuck happened? She's fuckin' pregnant, dog. You supposed to protect her—"

"Seriously? You're lecturing _me_ about _my_ family?" Michael snatched his arm away. "I've been protecting my family for years, longer than you've even been alive." He pressed his finger against my chest. "You don't get to judge me! You fucked up and got my daughter pregnant, but that don't make you a man. That don't make you a father. The sacrifices I made, the shit I been through to keep my family safe—"

"Michael!" Amanda stormed up the steps. "What the hell is going on? Why aren't the lights working? Where are the kids?"

Michael froze, his face turning ghostly pale. He moved guiltily to his wife's side. "Baby, I can explain—"

"Where are the kids?" she cried, beating her fists against his chest. "Tell me what the fuck is going on, Michael! Right now! Where are my children?"

"Jimmy's in my car," I said. "At least, I think he is."

Amanda glanced from Michael to me. "And Tracey? Where is she?"

I grimaced, a tense silence oozed between us.

"Someone say something," Amanda urged, tears brimming on her eyelids. "Please, someone tell me where the fuck my daughter is!"

"She's gone!" Michael blurted. "But it's fine. I'll get her back—"

"What do you mean, 'she's gone'?" Amanda probed. "Where did she go? She was here when I left. Did she just disappear into thin air? Did the Cartel take her? Was it the Mexicans, Michael? Does Madrazo have our daughter?"

Michael avoided her questions. "Would you fuckin' relax and let me think? I'm gonna handle it, okay?"

Amanda's eyes flashed, her mouth curled into an ugly sneer. "Michael!" she screamed. I gritted my teeth, head throbbing, the rising shrillness of her voice worsened the splitting ache in my skull. "Where is she? Where is our daughter?"

His weathered cheeks coloring fiercely, he blurted, "The Cartel! The FIB is working for the Cartel, and they took her, alright? I don't know where, but…" He embraced his wife, wiping her angry tears. "We're gonna find her, baby. Everything's gonna be just fine."

She wept and sobbed in her husband's arms, limbs shaking like a frail leaf in the wind. She leaned on him, arms wrapped tight around his neck, her trembling feet just barely keeping herself afloat.

As Michael comforted his distraught wife, I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked away. There were corpses in the master bedroom, multiple FIB agents shot down, lying in a pool of their own blood. Michael smoked them. He was good in a gunfight, better than me, better than Trevor. So, what stopped him from smoking Agent Smith's ass too? Did he hesitate? Did Smith catch him by surprise?

My head pounded incessantly as I struggled to focus my thoughts. I could hear Tracey's voice, her words played over, and over again in the back of my mind.

"I miss you."

"I love you."

"Come back home already."

Why didn't I listen to her?

My chest squeezed, the guilt weighed so heavily on me, I could barely breathe. Perilously, I leaned against the wall to gather my composure.

Fuck, how did I let this shit happen? I shoulda been here. I shouldn't have left her. Bad shit always happens when we're not together. I knew that, and I still left.

Madrazo was a ruthless motherfucker. He killed her. My baby…she's dead, and it's all my fucking fault. My muscles quaked, my hands balled into fists, nails digging into the skin. Man, I'm a dumbass. All a nigga knew how to do was fuck shit up. I'm a fucking moron, I'm a motherfucking idiot…

Instead of mulling over bullshit I couldn't change, I should be out on the streets looking for her. But where would I start? She could be anywhere…

Strange gurgling noises snapped me from my brooding thoughts, back to reality. "H-help…me…" A voice called out desperately from the darkness. Michael and Amanda were too busy shouting over one another to hear a thing. I followed the choking, helpless pleading into the master bedroom. There was a survivor among the dead, a FIB agent coughing up blood, still hanging on by an inch of life despite the blood oozing from his guts.

His voice was hoarse, and whimpering. "Don't…do-don't let me die. I know…I know wh-where the girl is."

I aimed my gun between his eyes. "Better start talkin' then, motherfucker."

"La…Fuente Blanca…The White Fountain…Cartel territory. Money is power. Control. Madrazo is…he's God." He smiled, twisted and ugly, blood spewing from between his teeth. "If I were you…I'd run. Get out as fast yo-you can. Th-the girl is already _dead._ "

Heat licked my skin, the self-hate and devastating remorse gnawing at my insides ignited a black, deadly flame in me. The bottled-up anger from years of resentment, mistreatment, and pain oozed from my pores, beads of sweat trickled down my brows. Like a burning fuse, I exploded, curses spewing from my lips as I squeezed the trigger over and over, filling his head with bullet after bullet, until his face was a red, gaping hole—an unrecognizable mess of blood, metal, and smoke.

"Jesus, F," Michael appeared at my side. "And I thought Trevor was the crazy one. Looks like you learned a thing or two from 'em."

I cracked my neck, and then my knuckles, loosening the stiff joints. Revenge never felt so damn good. I had to keep my composure in check though, at least for now. "She at the ranch, dog."

Michael pat my shoulder. "Good work. Now go get suited up, kid. I'll call Trevor, and we'll meet at the warehouse. I got a plan."

"Look, man, no offense, but fuck yo' plan. This ain't no heist. This is the motherfuckin' Mexican Cartel we dealin' with. They notorious for makin' cats disappear, thousands of motherfuckers buried in unmarked graves, they been doin' that shit for years. I doubt they finna show any mercy for Tracey's ass…"

I fell silent, my jaw tightened involuntarily. Fuck, I was so agitated and anxious, trying to hold a conversation with Michael took conscious effort. I forced myself to continue, my words slow and deliberate, "We ain't got time to be cookin' up intricate plans and shit. We wasted enough damn time already. Man, that's my girl, dog. I can't wait. Fuck that."

"F, look at me." He stepped in front of me, staring me straight in the eye, his gaze hard and assertive, demanding respect. "That's my daughter, she's family, and I'm gonna do everything in my power to bring my baby home. But if you do somethin' rash, you're liable to make things a lot worse than they already are. We gotta think this through, man. We gotta be smart about this—"

Lips in a flat line of disapproval, I glowered at him indignantly. "This shit ends now, Mike. With, or without you."

I strode away.

"Damn it, kid!" he called after me. "Don't do this alone, Frank! You're gonna get yourself killed!"

I didn't turn back. I couldn't. _Wouldn't._ I already had a plan, and it was simple: bust a cap in Madrazo's ass, bury every dumbass cartel motherfucker working for him, and then burn his ugly ass 'White Fountain' ranch to the motherfucking ground.

In theory, it sounded easy. In reality, it was gonna take some real heavy firepower to get the job done. And a lotta luck. But I had a few ideas.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review, let me know what you think!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Hey y'all! This chapter is in Agent Smith's point of view. Word of warning, its rather...dark. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Agent Smith**

In the bleak, green, sodden hollow of fields, my van skidded to a stop beneath a copse of lofty, wind-tossed trees, sleeping drooped in the melancholy moonlight. The great mottled stretches of wilderness bordering the La Fuente Blanca ranch was the designated meeting spot, and I had arrived punctually at the time appointed to meet Madazo. However, he wasn't here. Not yet.

But he ought to be soon. I had what he wanted, he would not miss this exchange for the world. A ruthless savage like Madrazo would risk life and limb for revenge. And quite frankly, so would I.

To the best of my ability, I peered into the tedious night. Through the dense patches of green grass dressed in dewfall, the endless lines of the countryside gaped like a wide-open mouth—dark, endless…lonely. Except for the rodent-sized silhouettes shuffling through the wooded slopes, I was here, alone, isolated and exiled from the rest of the world, the only human being nearby was slumped over like a corpse in the backseat, unable to offer any of her uninformed opinions, ill-mannered remarks, and regrettably, the companionship I grew to thoroughly enjoy.

I punched on the dome lights, brightening the van. Although unconscious, head scarcely bloodied with trauma, her slack, heart-shaped face glowed with its usual incredible purity. In all my years, I've never met a woman quite like her before. She was such a delicate, innocent thing, and I was so powerfully drawn to her angelic sweetness. Somehow, the terrible world we lived in hadn't corrupted her heart and destroyed her hope. But with her father gone, _murdered_ by me, her friend and trusted confidant, the cold sting of betrayal will certainly be her breaking point. Due to my transgressions, her faith in me will never be the same again…assuming everything went according to plan and she survived the night.

A surge of pain welled inside me just looking at Tracey's angelic face in all its innocence! But I could not turn away. I was no coward. I embraced the hurt—a blazing pang of remorse exploded inside me, branding my heart like a red-hot iron to the chest. There was no going back. It was impossible to make things right. I had to live with my betrayal, the slow, tortuous sting of remorse will undoubtedly burn my soul for the rest of my days.

Trapped in a furnace of pain as the night's dead, silent gloom pressed in on me, tears stung my eyes. With no desire to stop it, I let it flow. I had grown very accustomed to crying throughout my life, although I never learned to do so gracefully, silently, without bloodshot eyes like the star-crossed lovers in movies do, leaving no stains or ugly smudges. If only I had, then I could weep in front of people, instead of at the wheel of my car in dark parking lots, in empty bathrooms at the Bureau, and in my locked office, among the open case files scattered on my desk.

Through the heavy blur of tears, I touched a hand to her scalp. The bleeding stopped, thank goodness. She trembled in her sleep, gooseflesh broke out all over her body. I grabbed an old, balled-up blanket from the front passenger seat and draped it over her.

"T-there you are, sweetheart," I sniffed, stroking her cheek. "I know you disdain me, y-you have every right to. But I promise you, I won't let you die. I'll protect you, okay? After this, no one will ever, _ever_ , hurt you again, love."

A pair of headlights broke the night, a red Jeep carved a path through the patchy grass and shrubbery. My body thrummed with energy. Finally, the moment I've been waiting for! He was here, and as expected, the spineless bastard wasn't alone. In the back of the pickup truck, shadowy figures sat upright, moonlight glinted off their polished rifles.

I wiped my tears and glanced at the handguns dangling from my shoulder holster. Madrazo's men had too much firepower, a gunfight with them would be suicide. I rooted through my glovebox for a switchblade and tucked it into my shoe. This was supposed to be a violence-free exchange, but one could never be too careful.

I toted Tracey out of the car, holding her close in my arms, her head propped on my shoulder. The Jeep yielded a short distance away. A drove of armed men hopped from the back, one of them scurried to the passenger side to hold open the door. Madrazo climbed out with a little girl.

 _My_ little girl!

Her little blue eyes sparkled at the sight of me, wet and desperate. "Dad!" she croaked, lunging toward me.

Madrazo gripped the collar of her shirt, yanking her back like a dog on a leash. "You little shit!" he scolded. "You don't move until I tell you to—"

"Phoebe!" I shouted. "Let her go! I have what you want!"

"Is that so?" Madrazo glanced at his goons and gestured a command with a tilt of his head. Guns raised, they circled around me, inching close.

"Hands up," a grainy voice uttered from behind.

I obeyed, and a pair of groping hands pat down my body, ripping both of my handguns from my holster. My fevered glare followed Madrazo's every movement, blood rushed into my ears, hatred clouded my vision with dark swarms of red. All I could think about was stabbing him over and over, and over again—

A large foot kicked at the back of my knee, forcing me into a kneeling position.

"That's Tracey DeSanta," a man with a face full of tattoos snatched her from my arms. "We finally got the bitch!"

"Well, well, color me surprised!" Madrazo's ugly face twisted into a smirk. "I didn't think you had the balls to actually go through with this, Smith. You know, I made some calls, tried to dig up dirt on you for some good ol' blackmail. Problem was, you have no dirty laundry. According to my sources, you're the stereotypical 'good guy', and law-abiding citizen—no abuse of power, no shady government cover-ups, not even an unpaid parking ticket. And now, here you are, kidnapping women and passing 'em over to us, the Mexican Cartel, to be sold to the highest bidder. Ironic, am I right?"

Madrazo was…not at all what I expected. Hairy and frail, his head covered in bandages like a pitiful burn victim—despite all his money and power, I was not impressed. Underneath that finely tailored suit was a weakling, a measly insect waiting to be squashed under the heel of my shoe. I could break him, easily. And he knew it. So he kept his guards close, and overcompensated with assault weapons too big for even himself to handle.

In the end, none of it would matter. Not the guns, nor the guards, because he'll be dead. I'll destroy him. I'll gauge his shifty little eyes out, and rip off his ugly, haggard face with my bare hands—

Madrazo cleared his throat, pulling me from my gruesome thoughts. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

I averted my gaze from his hideous face. I must focus, I had to _talk_ to him, I could not kill him. Not yet. I must focus. "Nothing in this world comes for free," I muttered through clenched teeth. "You should know that better than anyone. This is a trade, we had an agreement—my daughter for Tracey."

"I suppose I should honor the deal, shouldn't I?" Madrazo glanced at his tattooed lackey. "Julio, didn't one of your girls die last night?"

"Overdose," Julio answered.

"Guess you're going to need a replacement, huh?" Madrazo shoved Phoebe over to Julio. "Take her. I want a cut of the profit; the young ones always sell for more—"

"No!" I jolted upright and charged at Madrazo recklessly. A Beretta flashed in the palm of his hand.

 ** _Boom!_**

"Daddy!" Phoebe cried. I froze, an awful tearing in my side brought me back down to my knees. My daughter wrangled herself free from Julio's grasp, her tiny body clung to me. Hot tears coursed down her rosy freckled cheeks, wetting my throat. "Daddy! Daddy! Don't let them take me, daddy, please! I wanna go home with you!"

I grimaced as blinding pain swept through me, the taste of copper filled my mouth, "I am so sorry, doll," I uttered, my voice thick with sorrow. "You must…be strong for Daddy, understand? Be strong…"

Julio yanked Phoebe back by the arm. She scratched and screamed, her cries echoed through the night. "I'll take her to the ranch," Julio said. "Gotta test the product first—"

"No," I wheezed, leaning on my elbows in a desperate attempt to stay afloat, lungs burning with every breath. "Please…you mustn't. She…she is just a little girl—"

Madrazo kicked me, the heel of his boot smashed into my face. I staggered and went down hard, blood spurting from my mouth, the unbearable pain warned me not to move, my vision reduced to a blurry fuzziness.

"Stop!" Phoebe bawled, heartbreakingly distressed, her outstretched arms reached tragically for me, feet kicking as tattooed arms dragged her away to the Jeep. "Don't hurt my daddy! Don't hurt my daddy—" Her miserable, pleading voice was shut out by the slam of the car door. Tracey, unconscious and helpless, was flung into the vehicle next.

My cold, bloodied fingers reached to capture what was once mine—my child, my everything—but she was much too far, the sheer weight of devastating failure and agony rooted me to the dreadful, chilling ground. In that moment of loss, as everything I cared for was snatched away, my world had crumbled to darkness, the light became shadow, every ounce of hope in my heart dwindled to despair.

How could I lose them both so easily? They were gone, like a limb torn from my body without a chance to save it. Bloody hell, how could a man live with such grief? No…it _can't_ end like this. I must save them…

Madrazo's scornful snickering filled my ears. "Smith, do I look like the type of guy to honor a deal with the FIB? I made it this far because I'm always two steps ahead of the feds. I know better than to trust fucking pigs. Why would I give you your daughter, and let you walk away just so you can try and kill me later?" A glob of spit hit my chest. "You're in love with Tracey DeSanta, aren't you? I've been watching, I have eyes all over the city. Choosing between her and your daughter must've been hard. I almost feel a little bad about all of this. Just a little. Love is a beautiful thing, you know?"

"Beautiful?" I laughed bitterly. "Rubbish…look where love got us. There's nothing…beautiful…a-about this."

"You're right. It's sad." He patted my shoulder. "She's engaged, you know? How bad does it hurt to know she'll never love you the same? That an ignorant thug—a bank robber will always be her first choice?"

Honestly, it kept me awake at night. But I would never admit such a thing aloud. I struggled to speak, but my tongue stiffened, uncompliant, the shrapnel embedded in my right side ached so badly, I could scarcely breathe.

"If it makes you feel any better, after you're dead, I'm going to kill the bank robbers next." Madrazo's presence left me. "Give this one a proper burial. It's the least we can do, as a thank you for our new product. Idiots like him are the reason we're still in business."

"Proper burial for a fed?" a lackey asked. "That's a first."

Hands latched onto my ankles, and dragged me through the dirt, my daughter's frenzied crying faded in the distance. The bumpy earth and rotting twigs snagged at my clothes, pine cones scraped my skin, leaves slick with due clung to my hair. My heart hammered, sickening images of what-could-be flashed through my mind. They were going to bury me, sell my daughter on the black market, kill the woman I love…

How could a man lay down and die with so much at stake?

Perhaps it wasn't too late. Despite my grievous wounds, still, I live. All those sleepless nights spent training, preparing for this very night couldn't be all for nothing. These idiotic brutes…I was faster than them, smarter, more experienced. I have gone through worse. I _will_ persevere, the overwhelming urge to protect the ones I love from anymore hurt numbed the pain and heightened my focus.

Death was inevitable, but I refused to meet my maker until Tracey and Phoebe were safe. I wasn't dead…yet. There was still some fight left in me. Cautiously, discreetly, I slipped my switchblade from my shoe as I was being dragged.

A short distance later, all movement had ceased. I forced my eyes open, and strained, my vision gradually adapting to the gloom. Below a thick cloak of trees netted with shadow, there were two heavy-built men hovering over me.

The bigger man of the two reached into the waistband of his jeans for a gun. "After we done burying the agent, we kill those bank robbing _putas_ next."

"It's been a long time coming, ese," the smaller man replied. "I hope they die slow."

Little did they know, inescapable death was approaching. They will be meeting their makers long before the bank robbers do.

A flick of my thumb promptly extended my switchblade. In one swift, fluid motion, I launched to my feet and lunged for the bigger man first. My blade whispered across his poor, unsuspecting throat, his blood flowing like a beautiful red river of agony and anguish. The way it spurted and spewed, painting the dull brown earth the vibrant shade of crimson—oh, it was bloody marvelous! And well deserved, too.

"What the fuck!" the smaller man jerked back in shock, but quickly regained his composure. At the top of his lungs, he let out a war cry and charged, arms flailing.

" _Oof_ ," I blurted as he rammed into me, knocking me off my feet, my knife slipped from my fingers.

We tumbled into a deep incline within the earth—a wet ditch of mud, grime and filth, my senses were spun by the stink of rotting meat clogging my nostrils. The moment I hit the ground, a severed head stared back at me, worms slithered between the blue lips and crawled up the nostrils. I flinched, dazed, my bones nearly jumping out of my skin from the horrific sight. _Bloody hell!_ Shriveled remains were stacked like cordwood beneath me, most of them disemboweled and missing limbs!

The crushing weight of a stout body snapped me back to my senses. **_Bam!_** A hairy fist cracked against my face, the agonizing blow forced a grunt through my lips. His blistered fingers captured a great handful of my hair, and pushed downward, pressing my face against the maggot infested corpses. Goodness, the smell! Teeth clacked together tight to prevent bugs from wandering into my mouth, I kicked him back.

My attacker tried to punch me again, but I blocked the blow, whipped my elbow around and drove the point into his jaw. **_Crack!_**

"Gah!" The impact sent him reeling, spitting teeth. I wrestled my way on top of him and pinned him down with a headlock. My arms wound tight around his neck, he wrenched and jerked, fighting to free himself from my merciless grip. But my hold did not falter. I squeezed and squeezed, his face purpled, tongue protruding his mouth as he lusted for air.

The bloody cunt wouldn't last much longer now. With no oxygen to fuel his lungs, his struggle eventually subsided. He grew limp, seemingly dead, but I had to be sure. Placing one hand under his chin, and the other on top of his head, I twisted. **_Snap._** His neck broke like a flimsy twig.

It was glorious! The ruthless, murdering scum had finally met his end. Justice had come at last!

I tossed his pitiful corpse aside to join the others. He was gone now, burning in the fiery depths of hell where he so rightfully belonged.

I stood victorious, and jumped for the slippery ledge, struggling to free myself from the mass grave. After multiple failed attempts, finally, I clawed my way out of the cursed hole, my fingers bloody, and caked with filth. Sprawled out on the ground, gagging, I swallowed hard, trying to control the urge to retch. Goodness, how many forgotten souls were dumped here and condemned to rot? There could be hundreds of missing bodies scattered along the countryside. The Cartel has been quite busy.

I took several deep breaths and aroused myself from the numbness that weighed me down. The night had grown darker, colder, withering trees creaked and groaned as they swayed in the wind, carrying the revolting stink of wood rot. Hidden in the dark intricacy of the surrounding overgrowth, I tore open my shirt and peered at my festering gunshot wound.

A groan passed my lips, a stabbing pain tore at my side with every slight movement. I had to get this bloody bullet out of me. If I could muster the strength to do so, and then successfully stop the bleeding, perhaps I'll have a fighting chance at saving the girls after all.

The ranch was not far from here. Surely, I could make it. I _must_ , for Tracey and my daughter—in the name of my pride, and for the sake of my redemption.

* * *

 **I hope this chapter solved a lot of unanswered questions. Remember when I said the story was ending soon? Well it is, I just decided to break the ending into multiple chapters because it was WAY too lengthy. And secondly, I don't want the ending to be rushed. You guys deserve good content! Anyway, thanks for reading. I'll be releasing the next chapter in a couple of days, because I'm ready to end this fic, and I know you guys are itching for a conclusion. Thankfully, you won't have to wait weeks for an update this time around lol.**

 **Thanks for reading! What do you think is going to happen next? Leave a review, I'd love to hear what you guys think so far!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Hey guys! I'm back with an update! :D Happy veterans day! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Tracey**

I screamed and screamed until my voice broke and my chest burned. The musty sack over my head stunk of dust and mildew, and in the almost blackness I squinted, peering into the darkness for any signs of life, or a hint of where I might be. Weary from what felt like hours of helplessly straining against zip-ties, the unnatural stillness seeped into my pores like poison, paralyzing me, cruelly nipping away at the tiny shreds of hope I so desperately clung onto.

I sat unmoving, silence echoed in my ears like a constant white noise that wouldn't shut up. What was going on? Where am I? Where was my knight in shining armor to whisk me away from this terrible, empty place? Franklin—what was taking him so long to save me? Dad was…gone. Franklin was my only hope. Like a superhero, he'd always sweep in and rescue me whenever I needed him, but what if things were to end differently this time? What if my luck had finally run out? What if no one ever finds me, and I'm left here to rot forever?

Dull despair struck me like cold water, numbing my brain. In my frozen, defeated state, a single thought stabbed through the base of my mind like a probing knife.

 _I am totally screwed._

Finally, there was a sound. A _crash_ , and a _bump_ , followed by a pained groan and scuffling noise. People were fighting, the strange, chaotic clatter came to a sudden end with a squeal and gurgle of death. My breath caught audibly in my throat. What the effing hell was going on?

Then, there was a strange creaking noise, followed by footsteps. Someone was here! I swallowed past the burning lump in my throat and called out, "Hello? W-who's there?"

With a swift tug, the sack was pulled off my head. Agent Smith hovered over me, dragging in ragged, painful gasps, his face and hair caked with dirt and soot, and clothes foul with grime and filth, as if he had just finished rolling in mud like a pig. He was disgusting! "Ew!" I jerked to get away from him, the chair tipped over from beneath me, and I hit the floor. **_Bam!_**

"You mustn't struggle," Agent Smith murmured. He held a knife in hand, fresh blood dripped from the deadly metal beneath the dim light.

"Get away!" I struggled against the bonds restraining me to the chair, wiggling helplessly in place. "You killed my dad, you murderer! I hate you!"

He dropped to his knees, his eyes intense, probing as they sought and stared deep into mine. "Have you seen a little girl?" he questioned. "Have you seen my daughter?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why would I tell you anything?"

He latched onto my shoulders and shook me roughly, his patience wearing thin. " _Answer me!_ "

"No!" I wiggled away from him. "I haven't seen your effing daughter."

"Shit," he spat, red-faced and quaking. It was so weird, I never heard him curse like that before. He was losing his composure, barely holding on by a thread.

"I thought your daughter was dead," I grumbled. "Lying scumbag—"

My words were cut short as he clamped his hand across my mouth. "I am aware of what I have done…" He took a deep breath, steadying himself with an effort. "I did not come here seeking forgiveness. Quite frankly, I do not deserve it. But if you listen to me, and do as I say, perhaps, one day, I may find my redemption." His expression was grim as he watched me. "I will set you free, on one condition. You _must_ remain calm. They will find us if you don't. Understand?"

Unable to speak, I nodded in agreement. The moment he rose his hand, I blurted at the top of my lungs, "My fiancé is going to kill—"

He covered my mouth again. "Tracey, love, I thought we had an understanding—" I bit his hand. He stumbled back with a tight grunt, gaping at his bloody finger. "Did you—did you just bite me?"

"I did, you dirty dad killer!" I glared at him. "My fiancé is going to tear you a new asshole when he finds out what you did. I can't effing believe you. I thought you were my friend!"

He knelt before me, and clutched my head, forcing me to look at him. His smoky-blue gaze was wet, pleading, and strangely filled with emotion. "Look around you. You are alone, sweetheart. _Alone._ Right now, I _am_ the only friend you have."

"Bullcrap. A real friend doesn't kill your dad. A real friend doesn't kidnap you. Only like, the worst friend on the face of the planet would do that."

"Fair enough. You have a point." He cut my zip ties, freeing me from the chair. I scurried away on all fours, my back pressed against the wall. My eyes swept over my surroundings. The floor was littered with sawdust. Darkness and gloom clung to the metallic walls, the weak, flickering bulb overhead barely illuminated the work table, and shovels leaning in the corner. There were tool boxes and paint cans stacked by the door, which was open to a crack.

The place looked like a shed, a super small one. And Agent Smith stood between me and the door.

"Surely, I am a bad friend," he continued, "There is no debating that. Regardless of what you may think, I care for you. Please, let me help you. I will happily explain everything later, when we are safe."

He reached a hand out to me. I angled my head to stare at his gross, grasping fingers. "I trusted you once. I'm not going to make that mistake again."

"It's either me, or Martin Madrazo. Who would you rather take your chances with?"

"None of you! You're both crazy!" I shot up and took off for the door, pushing him aside. The moment I stepped foot outside, the disgusting scent of manure burned my nostrils. Beneath the crescent moon and black clouds massed above, wide open pastures emerged, the deep tracks worn into the dirt seemed to stretch for miles. In the paddock of mixed grass and wildflowers, the thundering hooves of horses beat the soil, their tails swishing in the wind as they galloped along the dreary landscape.

There was shouting, loud and incomprehensible, angry enough to tear a hole through my head. My gaze snapped toward the raging voices. By the white ranch house in the distance, a cluster of armed maniacs pointed their meaty fingers at me. Assault weapons aimed at the sky, they unloaded warning shots into the air. Horses neighed, chickens clucked, and eagles cried, the gunfire sending the nearby wildlife into a frenzy.

My pounding heartbeat roared in my ears, louder than the gunshots, louder than the screeching animals. Knees quivering like jelly, I strained my eyes against the darkness and gloom in a panic. Where do I go? What do I do? The open land seemed to drag endlessly. There was nowhere to hide, no one to turn to, no one to protect me. The knot of hopelessness that welled inside me was crippling. I was a goner!

A hand clasped my elbow, the iron grip yanked me into the shrubbery bordering the shed. I tried to scream, but my mouth was smothered shut by a palm.

"Shh," Agent Smith swiftly commanded. "Do. Not. Move."

A war of emotions raged within me, my mind swirled with doubt. Why was Agent Smith helping me? We were friends—best friends with so many memories. I admitted my deepest, darkest secrets to him. We had a bond, a real connection. At least, I thought we did…

I wanted to trust him, but how could I? He abducted me! Wasn't he was working _with_ Madrazo instead of against him? Although he was the traitorous asshole who shot my dad in the chest, he was a lot less frightening than the psychopaths with the guns, so I complied and kept completely still.

A booming voice with a thick, Hispanic accent pierced the air. "Find them, ese! Madrazo wants 'em dead! Now!"

Crouched low, hidden within the thick, thorny brush, shadowy figures rushed past us, shoes crunching over the grass. A chill stung my face. Teeth clenched and stomach churning, I trembled, shaking from both the biting cold and terrible apprehension spurting through me. Quaking uncontrollably, the bushes around us rustled.

Someone nearby picked up the noise, "Huh? What was that?"

Footsteps approached to investigate. _Crap!_ A shadow pressed in on us, closer and closer, the sound of boots scraping clumsily over the earth grew louder by the second. **_Crunch. Crunch._** A hot tear rolled down my cheek. We were so dead. It was all over!

Sausage-like fingers delved into our hiding place, spreading apart the bushes. A wink of metal flashed within Agent Smith's palm. He swiped upward, and blood splattered on my shirt, the fat, probing fingers disappeared.

"Ew!" I squealed, scrambling away. There was red all over me, even in my hair. "Gross!"

A big, burly man laid spread-eagled and lifeless in the grass, his throat slit. I swallowed deep. Poor guy, the blade cut his vocal cords before he could even scream. Casually, Agent Smith stepped out from the bushes and straightened his dirty tie. "That's one soulless bastard down, quite a few more to go." There was a rifle lying beside the man's corpse. Agent Smith bent over and swept the weapon into his grasp. "I wager we can eliminate Madrazo next."

I shook my head. "Are you crazy? There is no 'we'. If you wanna fight the Mexican Cartel, then have fun. _I'm_ getting the heck out of here. I'm pregnant, okay? I have a beautiful, precious mixed baby growing in my stomach, and I'm not gonna let you, or Madrazo ruin my life more than you already effing have—"

A storm of gunfire echoed through the air. War had erupted in the distance, the blinding flash of weapons spitting bullets split the night like lightning. I jerked back, bumping into Agent Smith.

His hand descended on my shoulder. "If there is any hope of surviving this, we must stick together."

My skin crawled beneath his touch. I shrugged away from him, shouting over the gunfire, "Fine, but when this is all over, you're gonna rot in prison for what you did!"

He stared at me silently for a moment, eyes wet, his chin trembled ever so slightly before he cleared his throat. "I-I suppose it is what I deserve," he averted his gaze, blinking the tears away.

My heart clenched. Despite how much I hated him for what he's done, watching him cry…hurt. He was raw, and vulnerable, the emotions he was conditioned to suppress seeping out. He felt guilty, and rightfully so. My dad was a murdering psychopath who deserved a lot worse than a few shots to the chest, but he was still my dad. A part of me wanted the guilt to eat Smith alive. But deep down inside, I felt bad for him. Sure, he was my ex-best friend and my father's killer, but all in all, it still sucked to witness a grown man cry.

Agent Smith quickly regained his strength and turned away. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned me to follow him. I stamped after him, jumping at every explosive sound, the blazing chaos waging behind us seemed never-ending. Peeking out from behind the shed, he pointed at the white ranch house across the murky field. The large square windows glinted in the distance.

"My daughter is in there," Agent Smith said. "She isn't dead…I hope."

I frowned. "I can't believe you lied to me."

"I had to," he replied shamelessly, much too casual for comfort. "Madrazo took her as leverage, vowed to kill her if I did not bring you to him."

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"I'd be happy to explain everything to you later. For now, we need to move—"

"No," I snapped defiantly. "You lied to me, you kidnapped me—why should I trust you now? How do I know you're not leading me into a trap?"

"Abducting you was the only way I could get close to Madrazo!" He ran his fingers rather desperately through his hair. " _Think_ with your head, love. If I wanted to hurt you, I would had done so by now. Yes, I have made mistakes—wicked, deplorable mistakes—all of it for the greater good. I did what needed to be done, Tracey. I am sorry." Face red and drawn tight, ravaged with emotion, our eyes locked, his tone became gentle, resigned, as if beaten down with fatigue. "I beg of you, _please_ , set your animosity aside. Place your faith in me, this one last time. Help me save my daughter. Help me save _you_."

As war raged on throughout the ranch, the firefight blazing hot lead through the bitter cold night, I couldn't stop myself from crying, my sight blurred into a hazy mess. I was in a foreign place, surrounded by criminals and murderers. The darkness was alive with sounds of death, and I was trapped in the middle of it, stranded, helpless, unarmed.

There was no one else to turn to. Nowhere else to run. I had to trust the man who murdered my father…for now.

I rubbed the tears from my eyes and, hesitantly, took his hand. "Don't make me regret this."

Eyes watering as much as mine, if not more, he fingered a loose tendril of hair on my cheek. "Stay close to me, love. Keep your head down. Visibility is low, and I'd hate for you to be hit with a stray bullet."

I shivered, a tight laugh slipped through my lips. "That would really suck, y'know, since I'm pregnant and all…"

"Agreed," he rose his gun, holding it at the ready. "Now, off we go."

Fearlessly, Agent Smith sprung from our hiding spot. I forced myself to follow steadily, my trembling hands clung to the back of his suit jacket. We were out in the open, completely exposed, the glare of the moon streamed down on us. Our feet shuffling quick over the dew-drenched grass, we were halfway to the ranch house when a car pulled up to a sudden stop on our left, several figures emerged from the darkness beyond the headlights. They were armed with various weapons capable of brutal murder, crowbars, meat cleavers, and hatchets glistened within their grubby mitts.

Still moving, Agent Smith snapped his rifle up, targeting our pursuers. He pulled the trigger, his automatic weapon adding to the crazed chorus of death being sung all around us. The hot lead shower sent two men sprawling to the ground, the others dipped low and scrambled for cover behind the car.

With a tilt of his chin, he gestured for me to keep going. "Go! I'll cover you!"

Adrenaline surging through my veins, I hurled myself recklessly for the house, lethal determination guiding my every movement. I thought I was home free by the time I made it to the house, my heart thumped wildly as I fumbled with the doorknob.

The heat of Agent Smith's sinewy body found me, his spine pressed against mine as he continued to fire small bursts of bullets at the vehicle.

"The door won't budge!" I cried, yanking at the knob.

His gaze snapped to me for a moment. "Find a way to get it open!"

"How? I can't—"

Enemy rounds chipped the walls around us. Agent Smith dropped to his knees, wrenching me to the ground beside him. We crawled to the nearest porch column, and took cover behind it, his lean body enveloped mine protectively, my head pressed against his chest. Bullets whooshed like angry bees past our skulls.

Quaking, and drenched in cold sweat, I wailed, "They're shooting at us!"

"The wankers don't seem to like us very much," he grumbled, clutching at his leg, his breathing ragged. Blood seeped from his thigh.

My heart lurched. "Oh my god, Smith! You're shot—"

"It's…just a graze. Worry not, I will persevere." He glanced at his rifle. "The magazine is almost empty. Any ideas?"

"Uh, what? You're the one who comes up with the plans, not me."

"But yours are always the most fun, they are absolutely to die for." Despite our dangerous predicament, he managed a chuckle. "Do you recall when you tried to infiltrate a home frequently occupied by some of the most ruthless and notorious gang members under the guise of being an exterminator? Or when you forced me to escort you and a mangy mutt to a club, just to get back at your fiancé? The Cartel almost killed us—"

"They're about to kill us now if we don't do something." My eyes flitted over our surroundings. There was an axe in the corner, propped against the porch railing. "Hey, look!" I pointed at it. "I think I can break the lock with that!"

"No, that will take ages. Go for the window."

"Okay." I swallowed deep, mustering my courage. It was either stay here and definitely get shot to death, or go for the axe and _probably_ get shot to death. I chose the latter. "Are you ready?"

"Go, quickly. I'll cover you as long as I can." He shifted onto his knees, poked the muzzle of his rifle between the railings, and started shooting blindly. "Stay low and keep your head down!"

Once the bad guys took cover from Agent Smith's assault, I slithered along the glossy tiled porch on my belly, and successfully obtained the axe. I rose to my feet with some difficulty, this thing weighed a ton! I lifted the big blade as high as I could, just slightly over my stomach, and swung like my life depended on it. " _Hi-yah!"_

The glass didn't break, not even a scratch, it barely even moved. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. _Holy crap_. Either the window was super tough, or I totally underestimated my strength. I'm gonna go with both.

In a flash, Agent Smith jumped to his feet and charged forward. **_Bam!_** The door snapped right off the hinges from the impact. He lost his footing, plummeting to the floor.

"Smith!" I hurried to his side. He was hurting, flushed and sweaty, his eyes scrunched shut. I shook him lightly. "Say something! Are you okay?"

"That was…unpleasant," he groped his shoulder, groaning in pain as he sat up. "Remind me to never do anything like that again."

I smiled, relieved. "I can't believe we're still breathing."

He nodded. "Quite the miracle."

My gaze swept over the living room. I admired the shiny wood furnishings, cream-colored walls, and warm, crackling fireplace. The Cartel took way better care of this house than the shed, everything was spotless, brand new, and judging by the pile of work boots by the door, they even had the courtesy of taking off their shoes before entering. I didn't blame them, who would want to ruin such a pretty white shag carpet? I bet the rug cost a fortune to clean—

"Tracey, love," Agent Smith pulled me from my thoughts. "The shooting has ceased. No one is trying to kill us."

"Isn't that a good thing?" I helped Agent Smith to his feet, listening to the echoing silence. "Maybe the bad guys found something else to do."

"I doubt it." He straightened his tie. "My daughter is around here somewhere, I am sure of it—"

The tread of approaching footsteps stole my attention. Franklin emerged from the night's shadows. My eyes took in his powerful presence. His muscles were drenched in crimson, torso armored with a bulletproof vest, he wielded a minigun like a hardened war hero straight out of battle. Normally, I'd be happy to see him, especially in a situation like this, but the way he looked at Smith, his eyes white with rage, budging with hate, his body rumbling like a volcano ready to erupt—my fiancé was literally going to tear my bodyguard apart.

And honestly, he totally deserved it.

An ambience of dark, smoldering hostility emanated from Franklin in waves. Knee deep in silence, time itself seemed to halt as tension split the air.

Agent Smith took a staggering step backward, his hand held out in front of him. "I can explain—"

"Motherfucker, do it look like I'm here to talk?" Franklin tossed the minigun aside, the enormous weapon shook the very foundation of the house upon landing. The scream of a terrified child echoed hauntingly in the distance.

" _Phoebe_!" Agent Smith's head snapped in the direction of the wailing. With reckless abandon, he took off for the door.

With frightening speed, Franklin cut him off halfway, circling around him like a shark hungry for blood. Voice unnaturally quiet, menacing, and borderline _terrifying_ , Franklin said, "You put two caps in my mentor's chest. You pinched my girl, passed her over to the Mexican Cartel like a motherfuckin' pig gone to slaughter…" Although he had a shotgun strapped to his back, he reached for an axe instead, the very same one I tried and failed to break the window with. I shivered, speechless, my lips numb, refusing to utter a word. In his hands, it was a battle-axe forged to cleave flesh from bone, a weapon of war.

"Please," Agent Smith begged, ashen with fear. "My daughter, she is an unfortunate victim of the war on drugs, the war against the Cartel—by god, a little girl being held against her will!"

His desperate pleading fell on deaf ears. "How the fuck you thought this shit was gon' end, huh?" Franklin asked. "You finna get away with it? That I wasn't gon' come for yo' ass?"

He swung the axe in a vicious, chopping motion. Agent Smith stepped aside, dodging the attack with his usual swift, agile grace.

"Franklin," I choked out, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Stop! Killing him won't bring Dad back!"

My fiancé ignored me and kept swinging, desperate to land a killing blow. The slow, heavy weapon chopped the wood tables and chairs in two, split the walls, and ripped the carpet with every missed strike. I tucked myself into a corner, taking shelter from the sharp splinters and debris soaring through the air.

Franklin went for a clumsy overhead cleave, staggering a bit when Agent Smith leapt out the way. A bloodied knife flew from my bodyguard's practiced fingers. Franklin arched his head, the blade punctured the wall beside him. **_Thunk!_**

A trickle of red dripped from my fiancé's cheek, the steel nipped his rugged face. He touched a finger to the tiny cut and gazed at his own blood. A grimace darkened his features, the vein in his forehead ticked and swelled. I gasped, my chest tight, my heart thudded with an uneasy, irregular rhythm. This is crazy! The testosterone levels in here were out of control! They were going to kill each other!

"The attempt of reasoning with a big, psychotic buffoon such as yourself, is clearly a lost cause." Agent Smith shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it aside, and began rolling up his sleeves. "I've come much too far to let you, or anyone else for that matter, get in the way of saving my Phoebe. My friend, I will _end_ you if I must."

Franklin dropped the axe, and clenched his fists, cracking his knuckles. "Bitch, come get it then. I'ma break yo' scrawny ass like a twig."

"You are not the first dim-witted, belligerent thug to threaten me, and you surely won't be the last."

"Mhmm," Franklin grinned sourly. "A'ight then. Let's see how much shit you can talk with my fist down yo' motherfuckin' throat."

They charged at one another, fighting with fist, tooth, and claw. Agent Smith unleashed a flurry of kicks. Franklin blocked the first and second, but the third landed on his jaw. He winced, quickly shrugging off the pain, he caught my bodyguard's foot on the way down, and flung him aside like a piece of trash. He collided with the wall. **_Boom!_** His back dented the surface.

A hand flew to my chest. Ouch.

Agent Smith laughed as he scrambled to his feet, a mixture of self-deprecation and pain. "I will not let you stop me. I will _kill_ you if I have to."

Franklin clutched his jaw and jerked it back into place with a _pop_. "Give it up, dog. It's over—"

 ** _Pow! Pow! Pow!_** A barrage of bullets shattered the window, a burning sensation rippled through my arm. "Ow!" I cried, dropping to my knees. There was blood on my elbow! Some asshole shot me!

"Tracey!" Franklin dived to my aid, holding me close, he pulled me behind a flipped over table for cover. Gunfire filled the wood with holes. The table wasn't gonna hold for long!

"My arm!" I squealed. "It burns! I'm dying!"

Franklin gazed at my wound. "Babe, relax!" he shouted over the gunfire. "You finna be alright! Just calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down while I'm dying! You're supposed to be sympathetic!"

"I would be, but it's just a graze, girl! Whoever's blastin' on us has bad aim!"

Tears stung my eyes. "If it's a graze, why does it hurt so bad then?"

Agent Smith called out to me from behind the couch. "Tracey, are you alright? We mustn't linger here!"

Franklin drew his shotgun on Smith. I clasped the barrel, lowering it. "Don't! We might need him!"

My fiancé furrowed his brows. "You trust this dude? After all the treacherous ass shit he did?"

"I don't but killing him won't make things any easier. It's a waste of bullets."

The shooting came to an abrupt halt. A very angry, grating voice yelled at us from outside, babbling mumbo jumbo in Spanish.

Agent Smith translated, "They want us to surrender—lay down our arms and come out. If we comply, we shall be spared."

"Man, that's bullshit," Franklin muttered. "They finna kill us the moment we step out there."

Smith nodded. "Finally, something you and I can agree on."

I gaped at Agent Smith. "Hey, when did you learn Spanish?"

"In high school," he answered calmly. "Although, that was quite some time ago, I am in dire need of a refresher—"

The obnoxious, angry babbling commenced once again, rudely interrupting our casual conversation.

"They are becoming impatient," Smith glanced at the stairs across the room. "If we are to fight, we must get to higher ground. That way, we will have an advantage."

Franklin shifted to face me, our eyes locked as he swept stray tendrils of hair out of my face, the caring gesture soothing my nerves, if only a little. "Listen, I'ma take the heat off you, a'ight? But I need you to do me a favor."

My arm was hurting like hell. I croaked, tears brimming on my eyelids, "Wh-what do I-I need to do?"

"Run, hide, do whatever you can to survive. You understand me, girl? I need you to get as far away from here as you can, a'ight?"

Through blurry eyes, I hazard a peek over the table. Bad guys were closing in in droves, how could he possibly take them all by himself? "No," I shook my head. "I'm not leaving you."

Pressed for time, he clasped my shoulders and shook me. "Trace, I can't lose you, a'ight? This is bigger than you and me, we got a baby to think 'bout now." He touched a palm to my stomach. "I love you—the both of you. I _need_ you to live for the three of us."

My eyes widened. _He knew I was pregnant!_ "And I need you," I argued, blinking away my tears, determined in my defiance. I'd be damned if I left my future husband to fight an angry gang of Mexicans alone. "I left you before, and I swore I wouldn't make that mistake _ever_ again. Don't make me break my promise, Frank. Please, don't make me…" I threw my arms around him, refusing to let go.

Raw emotion glittered in his hazel eyes. Among the chipped wood and blazing lead, he embraced me, muscles trembling, his face nuzzled mine. There was a strange, salty wetness on the tip of my tongue. Oh my god. Was he crying?

"I love you, baby," he whispered against my cheek, his voice filled with a beautiful softness. "I love you so much."

I hugged him tighter, chest to chest, our racing heartbeats in sync. His closeness was a soothing balm to my troubled soul. His sturdy arms were an impenetrable shield, his undying love worked like a suit of the finest crafted armor—it inspired me, fanned the flames of my inner courage, and strengthened my will to survive. With Franklin by my side, no one could hurt me. Not Madrazo, nor his stupid cartel.

Two bad guys swarmed the entrance, ruining the moment. " _Hola_ , _pendejo_!"

Pressing one last kiss to my skin, Franklin rose fearlessly, shotgun held at the ready. " _Hasta luego,_ punk ass motherfuckers." The shotgun boomed, a trio of holes slammed into the chest of both men, throwing them back. But he didn't stop there. He aimed with speed and precision, raining full-auto death and destruction on our enemies. Men scrambled for cover, a savage flurry of movement commenced outside.

"Go!" Franklin demanded, unfastening a grenade from his belt buckle. "Move! I'm right behind y'all!"

Together, Agent Smith and I turned, and clambered up the staircase.

" _Granada!_ " a voice blared.

 ** _Boom!_** The floor trembled like an earthquake, my ears ringing from the aftermath of the massive explosion. I staggered, my knees scraped the hardwood floor. I smothered a sob, my whole body ached. My arms burned. My head felt like it was literally splitting in two.

"Stay with me, love," Agent Smith wrapped an arm around my waist, and gently hoisted me up. "This isn't over yet."

But that was the problem. Was this nightmare ever going to end?

* * *

 **Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Leave a review, lemme know what you think! Thanks for reading!**


	35. Chapter 35

**Hey guys, here's a new update! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Tracey**

While my fiancé waged a bloody one-man war against various foot soldiers of the Madrazo cartel, Agent Smith and I escaped to the upper level of the farmhouse. The second floor of the modern, luxurious home consisted of only one room—a bedroom. An _empty_ bedroom. Smith's daughter wasn't here.

He paced the dim-lit space, his tall figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the drapery windows. "Bloody hell!" he cursed sharply. "Where could she be? I could have sworn she was here, I heard her—"

A scream rent the air, louder than the explosive firefight going on below, the raw sharpness of a terrified child crying out in pain seeped into my skin and clenched my heart. It came from outside! The sound was like an adrenaline shot straight into my bloodstream. With reckless abandon, despite the danger lurking ahead, Agent Smith and I maneuvered our way out the open window and sprinted in the direction of screaming.

We crossed the ranch's deep tracks to a large red barn. Propped on a slight rise amid the wildflowers, the weathered structure drooped, creaking ominously in the wind. We threw open the rough double doors, the scent of moldy stale hay hit my nostrils. To our right, among the shadows, grime, and dirty straw scattered across the floor, was a young redheaded girl confined to a cot, and an ugly, beer-bellied, colossus of a man had his pants down on top of her. Disgusted, dumbfounded, my brain stuttered for a moment. _Oh my god. Gross!_

The girl screamed and screamed, squirming about in a hopeless attempt to free herself from the fat, disgusting bastard. Agent Smith sped to her defense, yanking the monster off the poor girl and knocking him to the ground with a good right to the jaw.

"Phoebe!" Agent Smith ran to his daughter's side and cupped her tear streaked cheeks. Hands balled into tiny fists, she struggled against her own father in a blind, weeping fury—pushing, punching, arms flailing.

She cried, "No! No! No! Get off! Get off—"

Regardless of how hard she fought, Smith clung tight to his daughter, unmoving as a statue, refusing to let go. "Angel, look at me," he implored, his voice choked with emotion. "Daddy's here. Do you understand? All is well. You are safe now."

She froze, her little blue eyes widening. "Daddy?"

"Daddy's here," he reassured, his eyes wet with tears. "It's over, sweetheart. There is nothing to fear. No one can hurt you anymore."

"You came for me!" She jumped into his arms, quaking and sobbing/ I smiled at their bittersweet reunion. Finally, we found her. Although she was probably going to be psychologically scarred for the rest of her life, at least she was physically okay. For now, that's all that mattered.

The creepy rapist jerkbag rolled over, attempting to rise while Smith was distracted. I kicked the sicko in his flabby stomach, fast and fierce, over and over. "Take that, asshole! And that!" I rained down a flurry of blows on him until he stopped moving, enjoying every second of it. He totally deserved it.

Once that was taken care of, I glanced up, cautiously scanning our surroundings. We weren't alone. There were more cots scattered throughout the barn, aligned against the mud-splattered walls. My gaze shifted from one unconscious girl to another. Bony ankles cuffed to the bedframes, their youthful skin was hidden behind layers of filth and rags. It was horrible.

How could someone do such a thing. It was sick! Madrazo was a monster.

"Smith," I tapped his shoulder. Preoccupied with nothing more than comforting his sobbing daughter, he didn't acknowledge me. I pinched his arm. " _Smith_!"

His gaze snapped to me. "What is it?"

"We have a problem. Look."

Propped on one knee, still holding his daughter, he blinked back his tears and swiveled his head. Once he laid eyes on the numerous victims being held against their will, he flinched. "Oh dear…"

"Why are they all sleeping?" I asked. "Shouldn't they be wide awake with all the commotion going on?"

"They are drugged, most likely." Agent Smith stood, and closely examined the handcuffs around his daughter's ankle. "Hmm, we'll need a key." He glanced at the jerkbag on the ground. "Search him. Perhaps you will find something of use."

"Okay." I pat him down, rooted through his pockets, but all he had was loose change, a fake driver's ID, and a pack of bubblegum. Great. "Crap. He doesn't have a key."

"Shit," he grumbled under his breath. "Just our luck."

Phoebe sat up and tugged at the back of her father's suit for his attention. "Daddy, I wanna go home."

"Worry not, angel. You will be home soon. Daddy has a plan." Teeth clenched, Agent Smith tugged at his daughter's restraints until his face reddened and his eyes bulged. But the iron bonds remained intact.

"Wow, you are so weak," I teased. "My fiancé could break those things with his bare hands, with like, no effort at all. Are you seriously even trying right now?"

Raw hurt glittered in his blue eyes, only for a moment before he managed to bury it and regain his composure. He sighed, shoulders drooped. "Very motivational, Tracey," he snapped, his voice sharp with sarcasm. "Your input is quite helpful indeed. I appreciate the encouragement."

My gut clenched. He had every right to be cranky. Maybe now wasn't a good time for teasing, considering the terrible situation we were in. If we didn't find a way to free his daughter soon…

He continued, "Now if you are done providing your meaningless commentary and quips, we can use a plan—"

A hand touched my shoulder. I yelped and spun around. Franklin appeared, his hazel eyes softened at the sight of me. I beamed at him, his powerful presence was such a relief. Except for some bruises, disheveled clothes, and the debris in his curly hair, he seemed none the worse for wear.

Franklin leaned in, his eyes sweeping over my figure, examining me with such scrutinizing attention I coulda sworn I was a painting in some old museum. A cold sweat dotted my forehead. "What? Is there something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Eyes narrowed, finally, he asked, "You good?"

"I'm fine," I brushed some of the debris from his curly hair. "But we have a problem. A big one."

"Yeah, no shit." His face went grim, a deep, disgruntled groan seeped from his throat. "Madrazo been keepin' his hoes locked up in this dirty ass barn, huh? Man, this is fucked up."

"Mr. Clinton, great to see you," Agent Smith muttered, still fumbling with Phoebe's lock. "A little help would be greatly appreciated."

"I got you." Franklin drew a lockpick and tension wrench from his back pocket, and handed it to Smith.

I gaped at my fiancé. "Um, do you usually carry around lockpicks?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Not as often since I quit the repo business, girl."

Smith made quick work of the lock. "She's free," he announced, handing back the lockpicking tools to Franklin. He swept his daughter into his arms. She was uncomfortably quiet, her body strangely limp, and pupils were hooded by lazy eyelids.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

Agent Smith's naturally solemn face was grim, anxious as he stared down at his daughter. "She…she is not herself. I-I don't know what's wrong. Perhaps she has been drugged, like the others."

Franklin regarded Phoebe critically, his thick black brows pulled together in a fleeting frown. "Ay, dog, I'm sorry 'bout yo' daughter. If I had known Madrazo had her from the beginnin'…"

"Then what? You would not have tried to kill me for exchanging your precious Tracey for her? My betrayal would have been of little consequence?" Agent Smith laughed bitterly. "I doubt that. Nothing would change."

"If you woulda told me and Trace the truth from the jump, instead of fuckin' _kidnapping_ her, things would be different. Me, Michael, and Trevor woulda helped you out, man. This whole situation is fucked up, but you made yo' choice—"

Agent Smith stabbed a finger at Franklin. "You have no right to judge me! I did what was necessary, as I always do! I got my angel back, she's alive and well, and I didn't need the help of three violent, psychotic bank robbers to do so. I am efficient, self-disciplined, competent in all that I do. You are not."

"Uh-huh." Seemingly unimpressed, Franklin crossed his arms. "You forget all 'bout the Mexican ambush at the farmhouse? You'd be dead if weren't for me, aight? A 'violent, psychotic bank robber' just saved yo' pretentious ass. Better show me some motherfuckin' appreciation, fool."

"For the first time in your sad, pathetic life, you thought about someone else other than yourself. Congratulations!" Agent Smith clapped mockingly. "Would you like an award? Tell me, how difficult was it not to be the dreadful, terrible person you usually are? Wouldn't you had rather spent your precious time robbing grocery stores? Selling narcotics? Committing credit fraud? Stealing candy from babies, perhaps?"

Franklin grinned, a humorless, vicious sound. "Listen, man, I've been meanin' to ask…where were you when Madrazo pinched yo' daughter? Why you didn't stop it before it happened? Maybe you ain't as efficient as you thought, at bein' a father at least."

With a nonchalant smile, Agent Smith replied, "No better than you at being a lover. Your fiancée has a track record for leaving you. Does it not hurt your pride? Only being able to satisfy a woman for a few days before she grows tired? You must be an absolute bore."

"Why you so concerned 'bout my relationship? You jealous or somethin', man?"

"N-no," Smith stuttered. "I…am concerned only with her well-being, nothing more."

Franklin stepped up to him. "Bullshit," he declared, his words carried an unmistakably strong note of dislike. " _She's mine._ She always finna be _mine_. How does it feel to be a second-place ass bitch? She ain't never finna choose you over me. Get the fuck over it already, dog. It's pathetic."

A flush of red colored Smith's face. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie, quickly regaining his cool, distant attitude. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, Mr. Clinton."

"Guys," I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously? I'm standing right here."

Silently, they glared daggers at each other in direct challenge, heat stealing into my face from the smoldering hostility. A muscle ticked angrily at Franklin's jaw, and Agent Smith grinded his teeth audibly, his skin red and tight with strain. There was tension in the air, animosity radiated off them in waves. Wow. They really, _really_ , hated one another.

Although it was super annoying when they argued over me, it was kinda flattering at the same time. I mean, who wouldn't want me? I'm amazing, talented, smart—a total catch for sure.

There were sounds coming from outside, incoherent muttering that was quiet and sharp at the same time. I rose my head, straining to identify where exactly it was coming from. "Hey, do you guys hear that?"

"Sounds like we got company," Franklin said, peeling his eyes off Agent Smith to glare at the large double doors.

I cowered behind my fiancé, my hands clasped his broad shoulders. "What do we do? Do we run?"

"And leave these chained women to their cruel fate?" Agent Smith set his daughter back down on the bed. "I would sooner die than allow such an atrocity. We must help them."

"Tracey," Franklin turned to face me. He clutched my hands with both of his and pressed the lockpicking tools firmly against my palms. "Listen, I'ma need you to free the other girls while I handle the bad dudes outside, a'ight? Can you do that for me?"

"B-but Frank, I never…" I hesitated, fighting the nausea clawing its way up my throat. "I never picked a lock before. It can't be that easy, is it?"

"I will aid her if you cover us," Agent Smith volunteered.

"I like that plan much better. Let's do this, Smith."

I turned away, but Franklin grabbed my arm with gentle authority, drawing me back in. He pressed his forehead against mine. My senses were spun by his dangerously intoxicating scent of sweat, gunpowder, and cologne. His body was warm, perspiration trickled down his shoulder-blades and imposing muscular arms. How on Earth could someone be so sexy and dangerous at the same time?

Our eyes closed, his warm breath on my lips, he whispered to me, "Be careful, baby." His voice was so wonderfully soft and loving, my heart fluttered wildly.

I curled a finger around the ammunition belt fastened to his chest, pulling him closer. "You need to be careful too. You're almost out of bullets."

"It's all good. I'ma make every shot count."

"If you run out of bullets, you could die."

"We could all die," he added.

"But you won't let that happen." I peeked at him with one eye open. "Right?"

"Right. Ain't no one finna die today, no one I care 'bout at least, and especially not you. I got you, babe."

"Then go. Show those scumbags we're not to be fucked with."

With a smirk, he pulled away. I joined Agent Smith by the nearest occupied cot. Careful not to frighten the dazed girl lying before us, we sunk into a crouch opposite of the lock dangling at the foot of the bed. I passed over the tools. "Okay. So, what do we do?"

"It's simple, really. Watch closely, love." He slipped both the wrench and pick into the lock. "First, it's important to understand the design, and anatomy of the lock itself. All locks are different, but they are quite intriguing pieces of technology with a quite a bit of history, the very first created spanning back to 4000 BC. Did you know…"

Instead of teaching me how to do anything, Agent Smith proceeded to give me a history lesson on locks as he picked them, freeing one girl after another. While he babbled about crap I cared nothing about, I tuned out most of his words and watched his hands work. Every movement he made was calculated and precise. Who would had thought lockpicking would be so entertaining to watch? He was so good at it!

Once we reached the very last lock, he handed me the tools. "Alright, sweetheart, your turn. Have at it."

"Um…" I stared blankly at the odd metal gadgets in my hands.

"Kindly insert the tension wrench in the bottom hole. The pick goes in the top."

With trembling fingers, I did as he instructed. "Okay. Now what?"

"More pressure on the wrench." He squeezed my fingers. "Now, using the pick, very carefully and controlled…" He clasped my palm, directing my movements. "Remember our goal here. We must lift and set all the pins to gain access. Listen for the click. Be sure to apply more pressure than the last. Just like that…"

 ** _Click._** The lock popped open. I gasped. "Holy crap! I did it!"

Agent Smith beamed at me, clapping his hands. "You, my dear, are a natural. Very well done!"

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," a grainy, deeply accented voice called out. Dark, ugly laughter filled the space. My head snapped toward the sound. Madrazo strode into the barn with a dozen armed goons at his heels. His men crowded around him protectively, their dastardly presence siphoned the blood from my face. My mind went numb, one look at his burnt, bandaged face caused a tornado of swirling fears to rampage through my head. He found us! We're doomed!

Agent Smith rose fearlessly.

"Smith, you're still alive, I see," Madrazo rose a brow. "I'm impressed."

Madrazo stepped aside as Franklin was pushed through the crowd. He tumbled to the ground at Madazo's feet.

"Franklin!" I dropped everything and scrambled to his side. There were a few crushed bullets embedded in his vest, blood seeped down his waist. _No!_ I propped his head up on my thigh and cupped his bearded cheeks. "Frank? Are you okay? Are you shot? What did they do to you?"

He wasn't responding. His eyes were squeezed shut, face pinched with tension, hands probing his bloodied side, it seemed like he was in too much pain to even speak. He shivered and I held him tighter. In that moment, I didn't care about my well-being. I just wanted him to be okay. I _needed_ him to be okay.

"Fucker got caught off guard and ate lead, so very tragic," Madrazo snickered. "It's over! No more running, no more games. Oh, I'm gonna enjoy getting rid of you poor fucks for good."

"You mean, your men are going to get rid of us for good?" Agent Smith asked. "A coward such as yourself knows nothing of real combat, of real bloodshed. You can barely hold up your own gun."

"I built my empire from the ground up, and with that comes certain perks, like my enemies being brutally slaughtered like pigs while I sit back and enjoy the lovely show—"

A bullet zoomed through the window, zipping past me, hitting one of Madrazo's men square in the chest. Another round followed shortly behind, throwing him back. _Yes!_

"Get down!" Madrazo ordered. The men scattered for cover, most dropped face down into the hay, one of them threw themselves over Madrazo like a shield and steered him away. Full-automatic guns sprayed death all around us, blinding flashes lit the space, the explosive sounds annihilating my ears.

Agent Smith made a dash for his daughter. Heart thudding in my ears, I hooked my arms around Franklin's shoulders and began to yank him back toward the wall. "You're…" _Huff._ "So…" _Huff. "_ Heavy…"

He shuddered, snapping violently out of his daze. With a pained groan, he rose, dragging me with him to nearest wall, out of the midst of gunfire. Crouched down, he held me close, his breathing slow, labored. While Madrazo's men were returning fire at the windows, a bad guy pulled off from the group and approached us, an evil smirk plastered on his face. He was muttering something in Spanish. Whatever it was, it did _not_ sound friendly. My knees trembled as he closed in on us, his giant gun raised.

Once he was in arm's reach, Franklin lunged for his gun. I cringed. **_Boom!_** There was a smoking, crater-like hole in the wall, the bullet missing Franklin's head by mere inches. He snatched the gun out of the man's hand with little effort, and punched him, one hit alone bloodied his face. The blow sent him twirling senselessly to the floor. _Ouch._

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Agent Smith and his daughter. They pulled out a loose slab of concrete in the wall, creating a hole just big enough for the both to slip through. His daughter crawled through with little hesitation. Agent Smith looked back at me and waved a hand, beckoning me to join them.

I clung to my fiancé tighter. He was far too large, he simply wouldn't fit through such a narrow crevice, and there was no way I was leaving him. I shook my head sharply. Agent Smith eyed me gravely, his harsh stare alone emanating disapproval. Then, he turned away, disappearing through the hole.

At least him and his daughter were going to make it out of this alive. Franklin and I were totally screwed.

Someone let out a war cry so loud, it shook the very foundation of the barn. "Ayayaya!" An unnaturally short, shirtless man waving a crowbar over his head like a madman sped toward us at a frightening sped. He went for me first, the overhead swing so quick, his weapon was nothing more than a winking blur of steel. Franklin shoved me out of the way, the hay breaking my fall.

He attacked Franklin next, unleashing a flurry of speedy blows. Franklin managed to evade most of them, but the little dude was fast and persistent. After five missed swings, the sixth made contact with my fiancé's jaw. **_Clack_**! I smothered a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Franklin reeled from the terrible blow, a glob of blood spat from his mouth.

The midget scaled his back and pulled the crowbar against his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply. Franklin struggled to shake him off, but he kept kicking his foot against my fiancé's wounded side, intensifying the hurt, agonized grunts spilled through my lover's lips.

 _Oh no…_

 _I have to do something!_

I lashed out with a quick kick to the midget's face. "Leave my fiancé alone!"

He cried out, dropping the crowbar. Franklin wheezed, sucking in much needed air. Then, he reached up, grappled the midget by the hair and flung the little sucker off. Finally.

"Motherfucker…" Franklin's expression darkened as he closed a fist around the crowbar, his eyes glittering slits of murderous rage. I stepped back. _Way back_. I knew this side of him regrettably well. It was dark, meticulous, severely ominous, and worst of all, there was no way of turning back until his destructive needs were satiated.

The midget tried to crawl away. Franklin stomped on his back. He wiggled about helplessly, ensnared like a mouse caught in a glue trap. My fiancé held the crowbar high, preparing to swing. I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't look! God, this was going to be so unnecessarily gruesome.

Instinctively, I peeked between my fingers. The crowbar came down with a **_crack_** , the little dude's head popped open like a piñata of brains, blood, and other gooey stuff. Yuck! So disgusting. Franklin clobbered him again for good measure, blood splattered over all the hay.

"Jeez, that was overkill," I shouted over the shooting.

Franklin didn't reply. Weakened by his grievous wounds, he pressed his back to the wall and slid down on his bottom, his every breath uncomfortably shallow. I chewed on my lip. The beautiful brown glow of his skin had dulled. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. There was an ugly red welt on his jaw from when the midget whacked him with the crowbar.

Through all we've been through, I've never seen him in such crappy condition. It was _bad_.

I slapped a hand over both sides of his cheek. "Frank? Are you okay?" I asked, terrified of the answer.

"Mmm…" His response was a tight grunt.

My ribs burned, collapsing in on itself, the overwhelming fear of losing my fiancé squeezed my insides. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and weep. But I had to be strong for him. I wiped the tears brimming on his thick lashes. "Frank? Say something, you're really scaring me right now. I'm freaking out! I need you to be okay. Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I'm…I-I'm good," he muttered weakly.

Swallowing a sob, I forced myself to give him a wan smile. "You can't die. You promised you wouldn't."

His face nuzzled mine, a silent reminder that he was okay, that he still loved me. "Stay close to me. I, mmm…I think—I think we're winnin'."

"We are?" Refusing to pull away, I glanced behind me. There were stiff bodies buried in the hay, riddled with bullet holes. Only a few of Madrazo's men remained. **_Crash!_** The barn door flung open. Trevor barged in, flesh and fabric was shredded under his weapon's assault.

"Give it up!" Uncle T raged. "You got no chance, ya sorry sacks of shit! I'm gonna kill every last one of ya! Die! Die! Die!"

I beamed at Uncle T. For the first time ever, I was happy to witness him doing what he loved most—murdering people.

"Tracey!" My body involuntarily jerked at the call. Dad appeared at Uncle T's side. My heart nearly burst from my chest. He wasn't dead! Daddy was alive! Like a little girl, I squealed, flailing my arms so Daddy would notice me. His eyes sparkled at the sight of me, an eager, delighted smile softened his weathered face. Quickly, he closed the distance between us, gathering me into arms.

I melted into his embrace. Dad hadn't hugged me like this since I was a little girl. Those were the good days.

"I thought I lost you, honey," Dad said, his voice all sappy and sad.

"I thought I lost you too, Dad," I buried my face against the collar of his suit jacket. "I'm so glad you're okay."

He patted my shoulder and pulled away, his gaze shifted to Franklin. "You alright, kid? What happened?"

"Daddy, I think he's been shot."

"Let me see." Dad ripped open his vest. My stomach lurched, there was _so_ much blood. I couldn't even tell where it was coming from. Dad winced, "Jesus, he's lost a lot of blood."

"O-oh my god…" Tears stung my eyes. "Is he going to be okay?"

Despite the odds, Dad managed a smile. "He's gonna be fine, baby. The cops are on their way, they'll be here any second."

Silence reclaimed the barn. "I think that was the last of 'em," Uncle T announced, grinning proudly at the limp bodies scattered in the hay as he inched farther into the barn. "All that's left is that shifty little bastard, Madrazo. Where ya hiding at, fuckface? Don't be afraid. All I'm gonna do is blow your brains out. It'll be quick, I swear. Don't be a pussy—"

Madrazo leapt out of a haystack from behind Uncle T, holding a pistol. "Got'cha," he grinned, pressing the barrel against Uncle T's head.

"Hey!" Dad drew a handgun on Madrazo. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Sneaky fucking bastard," Uncle T stilled. "Better kill me now, before I rip your heart out through your fucking chest and eat it like mud pie."

"You'll be long dead before then, asshole," Madrazo sneered.

"You pull that trigger and you're dead," Dad threatened. "Or, you can put the gun down and we can talk this out. The violence can stop here. Be smart about this, man. Things don't gotta end this way."

"Do I look that stupid to you? Hm?" Madrazo asked. "There's only one way this is gonna end. If I'm gonna die, I'm taking one of you with me. Who better than the cocksucker who kidnapped my wife, huh? This piece of shit deserves worse than death. He's a fucking psycho!"

"Alright, just stop!" Dad blurted, dropping his weapon. "There, you win. Now let Trevor go. Don't do anything rash."

Madrazo shook his head. "Well, that was stupid. You loco or something? I thought you were smarter than that, Michael. Now I'm gonna kill all of you—"

A girl pounced on Madrazo, jamming her nails deep into his eyes. He screamed, his gun hit the floor. More girls joined the fray, attacking him from all angles in a frenzy. The girls we freed—they were helping us! They stomped, kicked, and clawed, mercilessly extracting their revenge. Madrazo's cries slowly died out as the swarm of angry malnourished girls beat him into the hay, droplets of crimson flew from their jagged fingernails.

It was great. Gruesome, but great.

"My type of women," Uncle T nodded in approval, admiring the bloodbath.

Sirens wailed in the distance. _Finally,_ I could breathe. The police were here. We were going to be okay. The nightmare was over. We made it!

"You hear that, F?" Dad pat Franklin's shoulder. "You're gonna be fine, kid. Doctors are gonna fix ya right up. Not the first time you've been shot, man. Probably won't be the last."

Franklin managed a slight nod, his breath coming in quick shallow gasps. I stroked his cheek. "Dad, he needs medical attention right effing now. This is serious! I think he's dying—"

"Franklin is gonna be fine," Dad said. "He's strong. Don't panic—"

I pulled at my hair. " _Ugh,_ what do you mean, 'don't panic'? This is _my_ fiancé, I have every right to panic. He's been shot! I'm having his baby, Dad. Are you effing kidding me? Where the hell is the paramedics? Why are they taking so long?"

"Alright, alright, calm down." Dad squeezed my shoulder affectionately. "Just breathe. Everything's gonna be okay."

A half smile crossed my face. In a way, Dad was right. Madrazo was gone. We won! My fiancé and I could finally have a normal life together! I hugged his strong body tight. "Frank, we won! Can you believe it? We won!"

There was no response. He didn't even move. I stared up at him. His body was stiff, cold, eyes open, no breath on his lips. The police came rushing in, followed by the paramedics. Dad dragged me away, "The medics needed space to work," he said.

Once my fiancé faded from sight, the whole world froze. There was no sound, no movement, no…anything. Everything came to a complete halt. My entire universe came crashing down into absolute stillness.

Was he…dead? He couldn't be. He promised! My heart refused to believe the terrible, bitter truth. He wasn't supposed to die. Our life together was just starting…

Things weren't supposed to end this way.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys! Only one more chapter to go, so stay tuned! How are you guys feeling about this chapter? Leave a review and let me know! Your feedback is greatly appreciated :)**


	36. Chapter 36

**Omg, guys! Lol I can't believe how far this fanfiction has come, it's finally ending T_T. With bittersweet emotion, I present to you this final chapter...Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Tracey**

Graveyards were supposed to be terrifying at night. We were taught to be afraid of them. There was always something sinister hiding behind the shadowy headstones, waiting to ambush unsuspecting visitors, at least in the movies.

But in truth, graveyards weren't so bad, especially when you've spent as much time here as me. It was the anniversary of Madrazo's death, the day the nightmare finally ended, but I couldn't seem to let go. I couldn't move on. Sometimes the memories of the past would weigh so heavily on my head it felt like it would explode, and the only way to relieve the pain was to come here. To mourn, to find peace…

The pale luminous moonlight bathed the land in silvery light, washing away the dullness from the old, slanted headstones and statues of winged angels. The translucent color smoothed away cracks, and dissipated shadows. The great full moon was a gleaming lamp of endless energy. Beautiful, and otherworldly, it transformed the burial ground into a glimmering sanctuary of peace and reflection.

I walked the gravel path until I reached a wrought iron gate and a cold, mossy tombstone. I sank to my knees into the dewy grass and touched a hand to the memorial plaque, reading the inscription again as if I haven't a hundred times before.

"Always in our hearts," I mumbled through trembling lips.

* * *

The drive back home was the same as always—boring, vacant, _lonely_. I crawled into bed, alone, silence echoed in my ears like a constant white noise that wouldn't shut up. There was no one to hold, no one to talk to, I was all by myself now.

Nausea churned unrestrained in my empty stomach. My head swam with regrets, the warmth of the covers did nothing to settle the wave of apprehension sweeping over me. There was an ache in my heart, a sick and fiery gnawing that tortured me night and day. The grief was eating me alive from the inside out and a year's time still wasn't enough to mend the damage.

I found myself bursting to tears, my whimpers escalated into uncontrollable sobbing. With no one here to judge me, I cried loud and without shame.

The door flung open, a tall figure emerged from the darkness.

I yelped, nearly jumping out of my skin. "H-hello? Who's there?"

"It's me, babe," Franklin said, flipping on the lights. "You good? What's wrong?"

 _Crap!_ Panicking internally, I turned over, hiding my face from him. "What are you doing here? I-I thought you and Lamar were going out of town for the weekend?"

"Yeah, but I forgot my wallet." He sat on the bed and gazed down at me. "Why were you cryin'?"

I cleared my throat. "I wasn't crying."

"Yeah, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yeah."

"No."

He sighed. "Trace—"

"Frank, just go and have fun on your stupid trip. Madrazo's gone, you don't have to babysit me anymore. I'm fine."

"Baby, I'm your husband. Takin' care of you ain't considered babysittin' no more. We made vows, remember?" He lifted a hand and smoothed my hair back from my face. "Talk to me. Tell me what's goin' on in that cute little head of yours."

With a sigh, I gathered the broken fragments of my strength and met his gaze head on. "I'm sad, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? You must think I'm so pathetic."

"Nah, but you are dramatic—"

" _I'm not dramatic_!" I blurted and beat my fist against his chest. He was unflinching, his muscles hard as stone, the impact of the hit caused my knuckles to ache. "Ow…"

"You _are_ dramatic," he said with a rueful grin, his teeth dazzling against his warm brown skin. One look at his beautiful, dreamy smile and I had almost forgotten why I was upset in the first place. That square cut jaw of his, the rugged beard and pretty amber eyes—heavens but Franklin was something to look at! It was hard to believe a man so effortlessly sexy and masculine, was _my_ husband. We've been married for a year, and still, I couldn't get over how lucky I was.

He took my hand in his, the ball of his thumb stroked my sore knuckles tenderly. "You upset 'bout the road trip?"

"No," I sniffed. "I want you to have fun with your friends."

"You wanna come with me to Liberty City?"

"No."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "You haven't had time for yourself in like forever, Frank. You pushed everyone else aside to take care of me while I was pregnant. Then we had the baby and you've been on daddy duty ever since. My grandparents were nice enough to keep the baby this weekend so we can have a break. You and Lamar have been planning this road trip for the longest—"

"I appreciate what yo' grandparents are doin', but I don't need no break, babe. Not from you, not from our little girl. Honestly, I prefer to be here. It doesn't feel right bein' away from y'all."

"You deserve a weekend to relax and have fun, Frank. Everyone needs a break sometimes, even a model husband and father like you." I kissed the side of his shaved head.

"And you deserve to be left here all by yourself while I go and have fun, huh?"

I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed unevenly. "I'll be fine."

His brows wrinkled at my response. For a moment, he observed me, silently retreating into his thoughts. Then, finally, he said, "Ay, you went to that graveyard again, didn't you?"

I flinched, guiltily slipping away from him. "I-I did. How'd you know?"

"You always act weird whenever you come back from that place." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "If it makes you this upset, maybe you shouldn't go there no more, girl. Madrazo is gone, a'ight? It's over, it's time to move on. Let the past stay buried in the past. You keep dwellin' on old shit and you ain't never finna be happy."

"No, no, you don't get it." I scrambled across the bed away from him and stood up. "Screw Madrazo, he can rot in hell for all I care. This isn't about him."

He stared at me blankly as I paced the room. "A'ight, what's goin' on then?"

"The girl in the barn, the one we couldn't save…"

Franklin scratched his bearded cheek, his expression puzzled. "One of Madrazo's hoes?"

"The cops found her body buried in a haystack, not long after the paramedics rushed you to the hospital." I swallowed past the knot in my throat before continuing, "She's a Jane Doe, no one knows who she is or where she came from. I paid for her burial site, Frank! And no one had the decency to come forward and confirm her identity. It's like no one in the entire world cares about her but me. I'm the only one who ever visits her grave. I don't get it! Why doesn't anyone give a crap about her but me?"

A frown crossed his face. "Trace, I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"She could've been me," I stated flatly. "What if I didn't have you? Or Trevor? Or a really annoying Dad that's hard to kill? I could've been one of those dead girls, and no one would even care."

"But you ain't dead. You're alive, and you have a family that's dependin' on you to stay that way. This world is fucked up, I know that better than anyone, but dwellin' on it only makes shit worse. It fucks with your head—"

"I feel like we could've done more, Frank. She would be alive right now if we had gotten to the barn quicker."

He shrugged. "There's no way of knowin' that for sure."

My mind whirled at his dry response. Madrazo put us through absolute hell. He killed people, innocent people. After everything we've been through, how could Franklin be so detached and unperturbed? Was I that weak? Or did he simply not care?

Devastated, I dropped to my knees before him, clutching his hands, staring into his eyes, my voice cracked with emotion. "What if I'm right? What if we didn't do enough? How am I supposed to live with that?"

"C'mere." In one forward motion, I was in his arms. He laid back on bed, my form molded against his. He was warm, and the protectiveness of his embrace comforting like always. "I know things were hard a year ago, but we made it."

"Barely," I added. "You almost died. I thought I was gonna have to raise our daughter without you."

" _No_ ," he retorted between clenched teeth, his voice grating harshly.

Concerned, I sat up, my thighs straddling his. "Babe, are you okay? What's wrong?"

Franklin let out a deep breath through flared nostrils, "I'm good," he spoke slowly, with quiet, controlled effort. "Never had my pops in my life, and whenever I think 'bout that cycle repeatin' itself with my daughter…"

"Is she the reason we live in the mountains now, completely secluded from the rest of the world? I mean, you never go to LS anymore, you rarely ever hang around Dad, Trevor, or Lamar. You don't even pick up your phone unless it's for me."

"I'm tryin' to be a better man. If I start chillin with the same old cats from before, then I'll fall into the same old habits that got me fucked up in the first place, you feel me? I'm out of the game now. The stealin', killin', gangbangin'—I know how badly shit like that can fuck up a family, I witnessed it firsthand. There's no happy ending unless you give it all up. It's not easy cuttin' motherfuckers off, but it's better than endin' up in jail, or worse."

I buried my face in his neck and planted a gentle kiss there. Little did he know, he already was a good man, the best husband a woman could ever ask for. He didn't have to try very hard either. Sure, he's made some bad choices in the past, like murdering people, and stealing their cars or whatever. And he was difficult to get along with at times, his bad temper and random mood swings drove me crazy, but deep down, he was intrinsically good. And smart. And perfect…

Okay, maybe I'm a little biased.

Franklin's phone lit up in his pocket, vibrating and vibrating. Instead of answering the call, his arms remained firm around my waist, one hand caressed the length of my back, my spine tingled at his teasing touch.

Annoyed by the constant vibrating, I asked, "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Nah." He curled an arm behind his head, using his elbow as a pillow. "I'm good right here."

"What about the road trip? You're supposed to be meeting up with Lamar, right?"

"Fuck it, I'll cancel—"

I slapped a hand over his mouth. "What? No! You can't cancel, you've been planning this forever!"

He captured my wrist and rolled on top of me, his lips hovered over mine, so full and kissable. "Why can't I stay here with you, babe? A weekend alone, just you and me—imagine what we could do without a cryin' ass baby constantly botherin' us."

I smiled, "We could catch up on sleep."

"Right? So much sleep." He dropped a featherlight kiss on my forehead. "Or, we could go on a road trip of our own."

"No, I'm not going to stupid Liberty City. It's just as crazy as Los Santos, probably even worse."

"What makes you so sure, girl? You ain't never been there. You might like it, it'll be fun. Besides, I got family up there. My cousin been wantin' to meet you—"

"Frank, I don't wanna," I whined, hoping my high-pitched tone would annoy him enough to change his mind.

But he was determined to get me out of bed, his mind already made up for adventure. "Nope. We doin' this." He threw me over his shoulders and stood, lifting me into the air.

Legs flailing, I clung to him, "Oh my god, Frank! What are you doing? Stop! Let me go right now, you dingus! I'm not a toy, you can't manhandle me like this. This isn't fair!"

"Don't struggle, babe, just let it happen." He whisked me into the bathroom and set me down, my feet landing uncomfortably on the cold tiled floor.

I tried to push past him, but his huge meaty body blocked the doorway. He wouldn't budge! "Holy crap, why are you so fat? Seriously, you need to lay off the protein shakes."

Brows furrowed, he glanced down at himself. "What? This is all muscle, girl. Well, mostly muscle. I gained a little weight while you were pregnant. You were eatin' so much, and then I started eatin' a lot 'cause watchin' you eat made me hungry—"

I grimaced. "Are you calling me fat right now?"

"No, no, no," he blurted out in a rush, his cheeks flushed scarlet. "That's not what I meant, sweetie. You look fine, so fine—you are bangin', babe. For real, did you just have a baby? I can't tell, you bad as hell." He smiled sweetly, apologetically. "How you get rid of that baby weight so fast? What's yo' secret?"

I grinned at my silly, lovable husband. "You're so lucky I love you."

He chuckled cutely, the flush of color on his cheeks deepened. Even after a year of being together, he still swooned over typical things like sweet talk, and hugs, and cuddling. The way his rugged face would crack into a boyish grin, and his tendency to get all tongue-tied whenever I flattered him was honestly the most adorable thing ever. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

"What is it with you and sweet talk?" I asked. "Why do you act all weird whenever I say nice things to you? You should be used to it by now."

"Let's save this conversation for the road. Take a shower and be dressed in thirty, a'ight?"

I took his hand. "Can't we take a shower together?"

"Nah, babe, I just took a shower—"

"Frank, _please_. I hate taking showers without you. It's so much more fun when we're together."

His mouth twitched with amusement. He shrugged out of his sweater and unbuttoned his jeans, revealing the rippling six-pack of abs I've come to know and love. "So if I hop in the shower with you, that means you comin' with me to Liberty City, right?"

"Maybe," I teased. "Only if you make this shower worth my while."

He gravitated close, his powerful body surrounded me. The sweetly intoxicating musk of him overwhelmed me as he showered kisses around my lips and along my jaw. "Is that a challenge, baby?" he asked between kisses. "Because I'm tellin' you right now, you ain't gon' win."

* * *

Liberty City was a vast labyrinth of untidy streets, large noisy trains and packed stores, gas stations and glowing billboards, garbage and waste, with the occasional church and office building tucked between all the cramped chaos. The polluted air stunk of smog and car exhaust, and the traffic here was the worst. No one knew how to effing drive to save their lives.

Franklin slouched against the door as we inched _very_ slowly along in rush hour traffic. Horns honked fiercely all around us, drivers shouted death threats and spat curses at one another through their windows. A few moments ago, two guys got out of their car and started fighting, the altercation clogged up traffic even worse.

The road rage was contagious, the veins in my husband's forehead seemed like they were on the verge of literally popping out, and his grip on the steering wheel was so tight, the leather was tearing slightly at the seams.

It's been a while since I witnessed him this angry. It was _bad_. Liberty City traffic really brought out the worst in people.

Cautiously, I placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. "Frank, calm down."

"I am calm," he grumbled menacingly through clenched teeth. But it was all a big fat lie. He wasn't calm, he wasn't calm at all.

I glanced at his hard, scowling face and sighed. "Seriously? You look like you're about to kill someone right now."

"It's been, what, forty-five minutes now? And we hardly moved a goddamn inch. Fuck, it's like watchin' cheap paint dry on an old dude's shriveled-up asshole. You don't wanna watch, it's fuckin' painful and sickenin', but you can't look away 'cause your trapped in yo' seat and it never _fucking_ ends."

"Um, babe, what does that even mean?"

"Nothin'. Just forget it." He rested his head against the rim of the steering wheel. "Man, fuck this city. What kind of self-hatin', deranged ass motherfucker would wanna live in a bullshit ass place like this?"

"It was your idea to come here," I replied, casually reapplying my mascara in the rearview mirror. "If it were up to me, I'd totally be in bed right now."

He angled his head slightly to glare at me. "It was your idea to go to dinner during rush hour. All we had to do was wait an hour or so for traffic to die down, but nah, you couldn't wait. You just had to have yo' nasty ass piña colada and stale ass nachos. Why can't you slow down sometimes, baby? What's so hard 'bout havin' a little patience? Everythin' is always now, now, now—"

"For your information, they weren't stale, you ass. They were good, I really enjoyed them."

"Cool," he rolled his eyes. "I'm real happy for you, girl. I'm glad the trip was worth it for one of us."

"Okay, now you're being a bigger drama queen than me. And can you cut it with the sarcasm? It's so annoying, you remind me of my dad."

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "Fuck you. You ten times more annoyin' than I am."

I pouted my lips. "You don't really think that, do you?"

Smothering a grin, he turned away. "Nuh-uh, stop it. It's hard to be miserable when you bein' cute like that."

"You can't resist my charms. I'm gonna make you happy if it's the last thing I do." I reached across to him, planting taunting little kisses along the side of his face. Once my lips trailed down to the back of his neck, he shivered, sensitive to my touch.

"Mmm." Head still pressed against the steering wheel, Franklin muttered, "That feels good, girl. Do it again."

"Like this?" With a slow, sensuous movement, I flicked my tongue over the nape of his neck. My effort was rewarded with another shiver of pleasure from my husband. "Wow, it's been like a year and I'm still learning your kinks."

"Yeah, looks like I'm still learning 'bout myself too. I didn't know how much I liked that shit until now." He sighed, a rush of red stained his cheeks. "Fuck, Trace…"

"Aw, what's wrong?"

"Nothin' is wrong, I mean, besides the traffic and shit. I don't know, I was just thinkin', like damn, how the fuck did I end up here? I have my own crib, a kid, more money than I'll ever fuckin' need…" He glanced at me. "And I got you, girl. We married," there was an edge of disbelief in his voice. "We're _married._ I'm so damn in love with you, and you feel the same way. This thing we got goin' on, it's real, babe. Can you believe that shit?"

My heart fluttered. I hugged his muscled arm close to my chest and squeezed. "It is pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I just…never thought I'd have a happy ending. Marriage, kids, responsibilities—didn't think that life was for me. Not after all the shit I've done."

"You deserve a happy ending too, Frank. More than me, more than anyone. You've been through so much, it'd be a cosmic injustice for the universe not to grant you happiness and stuff. You know what? I can't believe you gave me a lecture about dwelling on the past. You, my lovely husband, dwell on the past way more than I do."

"I mean, you ain't lyin'. I overthink the fuck outta everythin'."

"So take your own advice, and stop being sad over crap that doesn't matter anymore." I pinched his cheek. "You know, I knew you were the man for me from the first time I laid eyes on you."

"You mean when I saved you from them creepy ass kidnappers?"

"No, before that. You were outside the house sitting on the steps with your super cool motorcycle. I thought you were hot."

"Wait, hold up. You saw my black ass posted up outside your crib in Vinewood fuckin' Hills—a complete stranger, and you weren't scared?"

"Well, you were a little scary looking, but all of daddy's business partners are. I figured you were one of them. Then you saved me. That's how I knew for sure you were total boyfriend material."

"Boyfriend material?" He scoffed. "Nah, I was an angry, moody motherfucker back then, worse than I am now, but I appreciate the vote of confidence. The only thing that was really keepin' us together was Madrazo. If anythin', we can thank the crazy motherfucker for that."

"Yeah right. You totally had the hots for me. Admit it, our date on Valentine's Day was amazing. You don't forget a date like that. You would've found your way back to me regardless of Madrazo."

"Maybe, babe. Maybe." Traffic finally started moving at a steady pace again. Franklin continued, his focus returned to the road as he spoke. "Who woulda thought an angry ass dude like me and a ditzy airhead like you would get along so well?"

"I'm not an airhead," I muttered. "I'm just as smart as everyone else."

"It's all good, babe. You can leave all the thinkin' and complex reasonin' to me, a'ight?" He gave a gruff laugh. "Wouldn't want you to hurt that little ass head of yours tryna formulate thoughts you can't handle."

I nudged him with my elbow. "That's not funny, Frank. You're being a dick."

He bit his lip in attempt to stifle his grin. "What? You can't take a joke?"

"You're not joking, you're purposely being cruel," I snapped. "I'm smart, super smart. You're the dumb one."

His expression stilled and grew serious. "You sensitive today, more than usual. The traffic must be gettin' to you too, huh?"

Silently, I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head.

He touched my arm lightly, the gentle gesture pleading for my attention. "You good, Trace? Talk to me, baby."

"Why should I? What does it matter what a dumb person thinks?"

He started snickering again. "It matters when you married to one—"

"Oh my god!" I punched him. "Stop! It's not funny!"

After fifteen or so minutes of listening to my husband's stupid jokes regarding my intelligence, we finally made it to our destination, the mall. It was huge, the building touched the cloudless blue sky like a castle. Composed of broad slabs of glass and white monochromatic brick, the imposing skyscraper may have been one of the tallest in all of Liberty City.

An endless swarm of people rushed through the spinning glass doors. I was dying to get inside myself. Makeup and shoes were my guilty pleasure, and my social media stalkers needed new content as badly as I needed retail therapy. I opened my palm to Franklin, my fingers itching with excitement. "Your credit card, please."

He whipped out his wallet, grabbed his card, and held it between his two fingertips. When I tried to reach for it, he pulled back.

" _Frank_ , come on," I whimpered softly. "I'm really not in the mood to play right now, just give it to me already."

"Baby, I want to," he replied. "But we need to talk first."

"Is this about the last time I went shopping? I thought we talked about this already."

"You dropped one hundred bands on shoes. _Just shoes_. That type of bread don't grow on trees, girl."

"A hundred thousand—so what? You can afford it."

Brows knotted tight, his expression was one of pained tolerance. "Don't you think spendin' that type of green on designer bullshit is kind of overdoin' it? I understand you wanna look fly and shit, I do too, but we ain't billionaires. We ain't got it like that, baby."

With a resigned shrug, I murmured, "We have so much money, Frank. You act like we're about to go bankrupt or something."

"If you keep spendin' hundreds of thousands every week, shit, we just might." Franklin rooted through the glovebox for a cigar, lit it, and took a deep drag, exhaling a long trail of smoke through his flared nostrils. For a moment he stared blankly through the car window at the people crossing the street in droves, the cigar burning incessantly above his lap.

What was he thinking? Was he mad at me? Disappointed? It was only one hundred thousand dollars. Why was he making such a big deal about it? The muscles in my stomach clenched, the tense stillness between us had me on edge.

Finally, he broke the silence, "Before I met you, yo' pops was takin' care of you financially. And now I am, which is cool. I'm a'ight with that. But when you come from a shitty economic background like mine, you learn the importance of money. It's pretty fucked up that Michael never taught you how to manage it."

I blinked back the sudden scalding tears in my eyes. "I feel like you're belittling me."

"I want you to make good choices, Trace. I want you to put yo' pride aside for a second and listen to me without gettin' defensive." With a heavy sigh, he opened the window and tapped the hanging ashes of his cigar onto the ground. "What the fuck am I doin'? This road trip was supposed to be fun and I'm over here givin' you a lecture 'bout bullshit you don't give two fucks about."

"Frank, I do care."

Lips pressed tight into a grimace, he shook his head. "It's cool, we can talk more 'bout it later."

He handed me his card. I stared at him. "Aren't you coming with me?"

"I'ma go pull up on my cousin and see what's up. I don't wanna get in the middle of yo' shoppin' spree. You know how impatient I get—"

"You're not impatient, you just hate big crowds. Which is weird because the city you were born and raised in is full of big crowd."

"I don't like motherfuckers, I'm paranoid. If it were up to me, I wouldn't leave you by yourself, but little cus' is waitin' for me and I can't be two places at once. Unless…" He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "You can save the mall for tomorrow?"

"No way. I've been looking forward to this all day." I threw open the car door and stepped onto the noisy sidewalk. I took a deep steadying breath, the fresh crisp air was surprisingly calming after the nerve-racking conversation Franklin and I just had. He could be so intense sometimes. I couldn't shake this feeling like I disappointed him…

Whatever, he'll get over it soon. We were both a little crabby after the long drive. Some space would do us some good. However, before I made it across the street to the mall's glorious spinning doors, a pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around me from behind. I gasped, all my conscious thought melted away once his warmth found me. "You didn't say bye," he said, his lips grazed the edge of my ear with every word, sending shivers rippling up my spine.

I turned and looked up at him. In the dead center of Liberty City at the busy intersection, surrounded by a mixture of bankers, actors, wealthy house wives, and influential business men, Franklin's beautifully dark skin, urban attire and ruggedly masculine appeal was out of place here—so out of place in fact, that some people were purposely going out of their way to avoid being anywhere near him. Women clutched their purses as they rushed past, while others crossed the street entirely.

"Call me when you done and I'll pick you up," Franklin smiled.

Oddly enough, he didn't seem to be bothered by the people avoiding him, not even their offensive stares. Was he used to people reacting to him this way? Was it a normal, everyday thing to be treated like an outcast because he looked different? What was wrong with him? Was he not good enough for their standards?

My pulse raced. There was a sourness building steadily in the pit of my stomach. How _dare_ they judge my husband? Screw all of them, the stupid, conceited bigots! Heat licked my skin as another woman clutched her purse as she wobbled past us in her cheap stiletto heels.

I shouted after her. "That's right, keep walking, you dirty whore! No one wants your ugly, bargain-basement bag, okay? Get the fuck over yourself, slut!" Angrily, I rose my voice over the speeding taxi drivers and annoying cell phone chatter, high enough for the world to hear me roar. "You should all be fucking ashamed of yourselves! My husband has more money than all of you! You're all fucking peasants compared to him—"

Franklin sealed his lips over mine, putting an abrupt end to my raging rant. I was upset, utterly distressed by the audacity of these people, but the moment his mouth began to caress mine with a tender, yet urgent passion, all my troublesome thoughts instantly faded. I swooned, clinging tight to his broad shoulders to keep myself afloat. It was a lingering kiss, our breath mingling, the expert movement of his lips was a possessive, divine ecstasy that could make any woman weak in the knees and beg for more.

The chaos of the city and the ignorant masses occupying it fell somewhere far away beneath our dreamy intimacy. I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care what they thought of us. All that mattered was the warmth spreading throughout my body, the way he could light my brain on fire and melt my worries away with a single kiss. I lived for moments like this. His love was my salvation, my shameless addiction, a soothing balm for the soul after a hard day.

Despite our occasional arguments and disagreements, no matter how negatively people judged him, he'll always have a special place in my heart. He was the love of my life, the father of my child…he was everything to me.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss for much-needed breath. There were eyes on us, staring, glaring. However, my focus was fixed solely on my gorgeous husband. He towered over me, his sharply sculpted face flushed with the most adorable tint of red. I chuckled at his cute blush, and then he started laughing too, the both of us lost in our own little world.

I stroked his head affectionately, the short wavy texture of his hair felt nice against my fingertips. "I love you so much."

His forehead touched mine, the sweet gesture a silent affirmation that he felt the same. "You done bein' crazy now? Can I trust you to go into the mall and act like a civilized human being? You scarin' the classy white people, baby. That type of shit can get us in trouble."

"So what? I have good lawyers. If loving you is a crime, then they oughta lock me up right now and throw away the effing key." I kissed his cheek, turned away, and began shouting again. "You hear that, miserable cunts? I'm in love with a black man and I'm proud! Woo!"

* * *

Two hours had breezed by and I had spent majority of the time in the shoe store, trying on heel after heel. The mall was going to be closing soon and I haven't bought an effing thing. I wanted to shop responsibly for once, one pair was all I really needed, but it was _so_ hard to choose. I couldn't make up my mind. There were dozens of cute options, all of which had a hefty price tag to match. I wasn't willing to settle for anything less than designer, I had a reputation to keep after all.

I sighed. So many choices. If only I could buy them all. Was this what it's like to be poor? Because if so, being poor sucked hard.

My phone chimed in my purse. Someone was calling. I picked up as I continued to scan the seemingly endless aisle of shoes. "Hello?"

"Tracey," Agent Smith voice seeped from the speaker. "How are you doing, love?"

I blinked. "Smith? How the heck did you get my new number?"

"Erm, you contacted me about a week ago requesting information about a Jane Doe. Apologies, did it slip your mind?"

"Kind of, yeah. Hey, where are you right now?"

"Liberty City, I'm on vacation—"

"Great, do you wanna come to the mall and help me pick out some shoes?"

"Uh, what? Shoes? Hm, give me a moment to take a gander at my schedule." There was a weird scuffling sound, followed by gurgling and groaning, like someone on the other end of the line was struggling.

I tucked the receiver closer to my ear. "Smith? What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Please, man," a muffled voice cried. "I told you everything I know. Don't kill me—"

 _Boom!_ A gunshot rang out so loud, I cringed, almost dropping the phone. What the hell?

"Apologies," Agent Smith said, casual as ever. "It appears my schedule is free now. Text me the address, sweetheart, and I shall be there momentarily."

"Okay, um, see you soon. Bye." I hung up with a sigh. Well, that was kinda weird. But considering Smith's line of work, I wasn't surprised. Federal agents kill people all the time according to my husband.

It took him about thirty minutes to get here. It was a big department store, but he was easy to find. He stuck out like a sore thumb here, being the only six-foot-four man wandering about a women's shoe emporium. He beamed at the sight of me, removing his sunglasses and patting down the creases in his finely tailored charcoal-gray suit. There was a gun on his hip, and a wire hooked around his ear.

"You don't look like you're on vacation to me," I muttered.

He straightened his striped silk tie and lowered his earpiece. "Well, I am on vacation, sort of."

There was a spot of crimson in his hair. It was painfully obvious and distinct in comparison to his pretty blonde strands. "Smith, you have blood in your hair."

"Pardon?" He ran a hand through his slicked back locks, wiping away the stain. "Is it gone?"

"Much better," I said, turning my attention back to the shoes. "So there's nine pairs that I like, but I can only buy one."

"Goodness, you mean to tell me you aren't going to buyout the entire store?" He grinned. "Where is Tracey and what have you done with her?"

"My husband thinks I've been overspending so yeah, I'm trying to be price conscious, frugal or whatever. It's super lame—"

Agent Smith caught my arm in a stern grip, the smile on his face vanished. "You are lawfully wedded? To Mr. Clinton?"

"Yeah," I pulled away. "You knew we were engaged. Why are you being so weird about it?"

"I did not receive an invitation to the wedding. Why was I excluded? I'm not _that_ bad, am I?"

"I didn't want any drama at my wedding."

"Me? Drama?" A hand flew dramatically to his chest. "My, you offend me."

I bit my lip to suppress a smile. "My husband doesn't feel comfortable around you, Smith."

"Is he…" Agent Smith leaned close, his face split into a broad, teasing smile. "Intimidated by me?"

I cackled, amused by the accusation. "You do remember kidnapping me a year ago, right?"

"Ah, right. He's still holding a grudge."

"We both are. Getting snatched from the safety of your home isn't something you just get over, you know?"

"Of course, but in my defense, I had no choice. Would you not do the same for your daughter?"

"I would," I picked up a pair of purple pumps. "What do you think?"

He surveyed the shoe briefly and shook his head. "No, sweetie, purple is not for you. Red compliments you better, I believe. The color is bold, powerful, sexy, and it really brings out your skin tone."

"You are so right, Smith." I tossed the pumps aside and continued my search. "Let me know if you see anything cute, okay?"

"Of course. How is your daughter, if you don't mind me asking? I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her. What is she like?"

"Oh my god, having a mixed baby is not what it's cracked up to be. She cries, a lot. My mom says she's a spitting image of me when I was a baby, besides the dark curly hair. I'm still learning how to manage it, the texture is different than I'm used to. She's great though, she's growing up so fast."

"If the child shares any resemblance to her mother, I'm sure she's quite lovely indeed."

"Thank you. I am quite marvelous after all."

"And humble," he added with a playful smirk. "So very humble."

"Right?"

A saleslady in a bulky, wool knit belted cardigan turned into our aisle. "We close in five," she announced, her bony face knotted in a mean scowl. She glared at us for a moment before storming off.

"I dare say someone's having an awful day at work today," Agent Smith muttered.

I sank onto the padded bench, kicking the empty shoe boxes scattered across the floor aside. "Well, so much for shopping…"

Smith sat down next to me. It was evening now, the mall was quiet, the frantic rush of the day had finally ended. No sirens, horns, or honking. No people. Just the gentle hum of the central air conditioning and footsteps in the distance. I smiled to myself. In a hectic, anxiety-inducing city like this, I was beginning to really appreciate the rare moments of calmness.

"I miss this," Agent Smith murmured.

I glanced at him. "What?"

"Being around you," he confessed sheepishly, his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "It's a nice break from work. Everything is simple. Fun. Relaxed. No mind games, no stress. We're just two generally decent people trying to make it in this absurd, chaotic world of raging lunatics."

"Honestly I think we're kind of crazy too."

"Kind of is the key word, love. To survive in Los Santos and Liberty City, you need a bit of crazy in you."

"Are people nutjobs in Britain too?"

"You have no idea." He shifted closer, his thigh brushed mine. "It's been a year since we've seen each other. Tell me, how are you really? Are you happy? Is life treating you well?"

My cheeks burned, conscious of the bright blue eyes focused on me. There was genuine concern in his gaze. "I'm fine, Smith," I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You're not my bodyguard anymore, you don't have to worry about me."

His expression grew pinched with somber emotion. He was stricken, tears brimmed on his lashes. Clearly distressed by something, his shoulders slumped as if the emotional burden of whatever unknown sadness he held deep inside was weighing him down. Regardless of the whole kidnapping and shooting my dad thing, he was always there for me in the past when I was upset. Whenever I felt alone in the world and desperately needed help, he'd always show up. It was only right to return the favor.

I threw my arms around him, chest to chest, I could feel the thundering of his pounding heart. "Smith," I whimpered, my eyes watering out of pure concern for my old friend. "Don't be sad. I hate it when you're sad."

"Forgive me, dear," he said, impassioned, his voice cracked. "I di-did not mean to spill my emotions on you tonight, I am so sorry—"

"No, don't apologize. I've dumped my emotional baggage on you plenty of times." I rubbed his back soothingly. "Let it all out. It's okay. I got you."

His distinguished face red and wet with tears, he planted a kiss on my temple. It was a light, platonic touch, sweet and harmless. I dipped a hand in my pocketbook and wiped his face with a tissue. He mumbled fondly, "Thank you, love."

For a moment we lingered there, simply enjoying each other's presence. After all this time away from one another, I didn't realize how much I missed him until today.

"I know I've made mistakes in the past." He took my hands in his, and met my gaze squarely, unashamed of the wet vulnerability glinting in his eyes. "Tracey, I beg of you, could you find it in your heart to forgive me? I want to start over with you, as friends. We can take things at a snail's pace if you desire, perhaps one day we can be best friends again like before—before I betrayed you."

"Friends?" I pulled away, weighing his proposal. "Are you sure we can be _just_ friends? After everything we've been through…"

"Well…" He sighed, his face set firmly in deep thought. "Your heart belongs to another, and I've come to realize that won't ever change. Friends is all we can ever be. Yes, it hurts me so, but to never see you again, to be without you completely—the pain is much more severe."

"Then it's decided, we're besties again," I beamed. "I always wanted a gay best friend so Franklin will just have to get over it."

"I'm not gay—"

"I missed having you around," I continued. "And it's okay to be gay, Smith. You don't have to hide things like that from me, we're best friends."

He shook his head and went on with a heavy sigh. "Are you sure about our friendship? I have no intention of causing a rift in your marriage. I have done enough damage in the past—"

"You won't, don't worry. But if we're really gonna be best friends again, I need you to promise me one thing."

"Anything, love."

I clutched the collar of his suit. "Don't you ever lie to me again. Seriously Smith, we can't be BFFs if we don't trust one another."

"You are absolutely right," he gave my hand a tender squeeze. "I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If that is not good enough for you, I can find a bible to swear on, perhaps?"

"That won't be necessary, I have a test for you instead." I pat down the creases in his collar. "I know you aren't on vacation from your job. What are you doing in Liberty City? I want the truth. Are you on a mission?"

"A self-appointed mission, yes. While investigating the identity of the Jane Doe from the barn, I noticed there was a spike in abductions this year. Hundreds of women being snatched off the streets, never to be seen again, most of the mysterious disappearances happening in the heart of Liberty City itself. It's odd, this is such an overcrowded city, and no one has seen a thing. It's like these women are disappearing into thin air without a trace."

I gasped. "Wait, do you think the disappearances are connected to the Cartel?"

"I have a hunch that is the case. We cut off the head of the lion, Madrazo, but that wasn't enough. The arms dealing, the sex trafficking, the drug smuggling—the Cartel lives on I'm afraid, under new management."

I shot up from my seat. "Okay, so what are we going to do about it? How do we stop the bad guys?"

"We?" A patronizing laugh slipped from his lips. "I am the federal agent here. Fighting the good fight against the Cartel is my duty, not yours."

"I can be useful! Those girls need all the help they can get. I can't just sit by while all these terrible things are happening. I wanna help!" I clapped my hands together excitedly. "We can be partners! It'll be so fun."

"This is not a game, Tracey. You are a mother now. Think of your daughter. Whatever will she do if she loses her mother?"

"What will you do if your daughter loses you?" I countered. "We both have a kid, and we'd do anything to protect them, right?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"What's stopping the Cartel from taking one of our babies? It could happen, Smith, well again for you. I know how it feels to be targeted by those bastards. I wanna take them down just as badly as you do, its personal."

He frowned. "Going against the Cartel, you know better than anyone how bloody ruthless these people can be. If you choose this fight, _again_ , we may not get as lucky as before. A gruesome fate may be lying in wait. Are you sure you want to brave this investigation with me?

I nodded stiffly. "If I get to save people, like those girls at the ranch, then hell yes. I can do this."

Agent Smith pat my head fondly. "Alright, love. Come, there is much to be done. We shall make a stop at Bean Machine for coffee first. I cannot work without caffeine in my system."

The saleslady marched back into our aisle. "Seriously, we're closing. You guys gotta go."

I pointed at the pile of shoe boxes I set aside. "I'll take these nine pairs, please."

She stared at the stack of shoes, her mouth gaping like a fish. "N-nine pairs?"

"That's right. I'm rich, bitch." I skipped ahead of Smith. "Race you to the car!"

After months of being bedridden with morning sickness and an uncomfortably huge effing stomach, I missed the excitement of my younger days. Fighting bad guys, saving people, almost dying at every turn—that was the life. I needed to feel the thrill of living again. No more sitting at home all day, bored and miserable. It was time to make a change!

Standing up to the Cartel was going to be a lot more complicated than before with a husband and a newborn baby depending on me, but I was up for the challenge. My dad had a double life, but he always made time for us. He did his best to keep his shady dealings separate from the family. Maybe I could do the same, except I wasn't a crook. Everything I do will be for the greater good, in the name of bringing assholes to justice.

With Agent Smith's support and guidance, I might even be good at it.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed the FINAL chapter. Thank you so much for reading and supporting me on this long journey, it means the world to me that you guys stuck around this long to finish this fanfic. You dealt with my super slow updates and I love you guys for it. Thank you again! Please leave a review, let me know if I wrapped things up okay, the last thing I wanted was for this story to feel rushed, so I hope the pacing was good! What did you think of the ending? Lemme know!**

 **Since I'm all done with this story, I'll be taking requests! Hit me up on tumblr or just send message here :)** **I'll just be sticking to one shots for now on, since I'm going to be working on writing a novel of my own.** **We still need more Franklin content though, there isn't enough!** **Make sure to follow/fav me so you know when a one-shot drops! I MIGHT continue this story with a part 2 as well, we will see... Anyway,** **I love you guys! Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading!**


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